


The Lonely King

by OrangeTabby



Series: The Lonely King [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cheese, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erotic Cookbooks, F/M, Fluff, Libraries, Mabari Puppies, Modern Girl in Thedas, Self-Rescue, Slow Build, Smut, Smutty Literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 78,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeTabby/pseuds/OrangeTabby
Summary: It is 1999 and Maggie expected her life to be exactly the same after the new millennium. Working as a rare books librarian. Avoiding party invites. Drinking tea. Sampling delicious cheese.What she did not expect was to end up in a different world being chased by terrifying demons and being involuntarily rescued by a strange man...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my sister [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for her invaluable help with editing and putting up with me alternately fangirling and fretting about this fic!

Sydney, Australia.

December 31, 1999

 

Maggie sighed. “The world is not going to end, Rubes.”

Ruby dismissed her with a gesture, “But it might. Midnight hits and all the lights go out, BOOM total chaos everywhere!”

“If we hit the new millennium and things go dark, I’ll be right here with my books and my portable gas burner and a massive supply of tea and cheese. Sorted.”

Ruby pouted, her lower lip quivering. “Come on Maggie, Y2K or not, we still need a Posh Spice.”

“Firstly, if I were any Spice, then I’d be a chunky Ginger Spice. But as it happens, I’m not any Spice at all. Especially Posh!” Maggie said as she eyed her friend and then sunk lower in her chair. She held an old book defensively across her chest.

“The millennium only happens once, Mags. The Spicellennium is going to be the hottest party in Sydney tonight, and you are letting the side down.” Ruby said, giving Maggie a winning smile. “Everyone knows Posh is the coolest Spice Girl, we’re actually doing you a favour.”

This had happened every New Years for the almost 10 years that Maggie had known Ruby. They had been roommates in their first year of university. Ruby had long considered it important to try and convince Maggie to attend any number of large obnoxious parties. Maggie devoted herself to finding any number of plausible excuses to avoid such activities.

Maggie scowled. “Sorry Rubes. I’d rather stab myself in the eye than attend a terrible pop group themed party. Besides, I’ve got a hot date with a cup of tea and some light reading.”

Maggie held the book up and waggled it at her friend.

Ruby hung her head and sighed dramatically, her blonde wig going askew. She adjusted her short bubble gum pink dress. “Fine! Be antisocial, but I guarantee you’ll regret it in the morning.”

“Hey at least I’ll be hangover free and safe in my own bed to start the year 2000.” Maggie said, smiling at her friend. She knew Ruby’s mood was as changeable as the Sydney weather. A good distraction was always helpful for avoiding thorny topics.

Ruby giggled, taking the bait. “Jason is going as Scary Spice, and I know tonight is the night he’ll realise how into me he is!”

Maggie raised her eyebrows sceptically. “Uh huh, oh yes. Scary and Baby, a match made in heaven.”

Ruby shook her head in defeat and kissed Maggie on the cheek. “Have a great night being an antisocial witch, Mags. I may or may not see you tomorrow.”

“Have fun, I know I will.” Maggie brandished her book at Ruby, who smiled and waved as she left.

_Posh Spice_ , thought Maggie, _they really must have been desperate if they thought I would carry that one off_.

It’s not that she didn’t want to celebrate the millennium. All her friends were going to be at the ridiculous Spice Girls party. She’d been morose over this Christmas and New Years, missing her family. It had been 5 years since a drunk driver killed her beloved mother and younger brother Jon, shortly before Maggie finished graduate school. Jon had just started Uni himself, and their Mum had been so proud of them both. Jon would tease Maggie that his Geology major would at least lead to a job, unlike her History degree. When she shut her eyes, she could picture his auburn curls and bright blue eyes, so like their Mum and her. Her memories of her Mum were bittersweet, her sadly smiling face as she shushed Jon and Maggie when their Dad was drinking again, taking them for long walks to avoid his rage, encouraging quiet activities like reading so they’d stay beneath notice.

It took 4 years after the deaths of Jon and Mum for her father to find his own death at the bottom of a whiskey bottle, leaving Maggie utterly without a family. This time of the year had evolved from being a simple exercise in party avoidance to one of genuine sadness. She was feeling flat and introspective and lonely. She’d long since stopped thinking of things she’d like to share with Mum and Jon, accustomed to their absence, but she wished she could share this. It felt significant, the rollover of a new century and a new era. Something for loved ones to share, looking forward to the future and the changes and celebrations it would bring. She was fond of her friends but they had their own lives and families and loves. Maggie considered herself an outsider, observing their world but not a part of it.

Work had been a saviour for Maggie, she loved old books. Her work in the rare books section of Sydney University library had been the fulfillment of a dream she’d had since she was a small girl. Simply existing with the history dripping from every shelf there made every day special. The dry and dusty smell of the old books was like the sweetest perfume to her. Touching books that other people had touched centuries ago was still a rush, even after years of working with them.

As she threw her body and soul into her work she’d hardly had time for her friendships or any romantic relationships. There had been a couple of casual relationships with colleagues resulting in the occasional unsatisfying pash and grope behind the stacks. There was nothing that sparked the same passion that her job did, nothing that satisfied more than a momentary fancy.

Maggie donned her light cotton archivist gloves, wiggling her fingers to ensure a smooth fit. She pulled a comfortable chair over to the table and started thumbing idly through the pages of her book. Maggie didn’t normally bring work home with her, but the old tome was a recent donation to the library and she wanted to spend some proper time reading it. The importance of accurate cataloguing couldn’t be understated.

The author had written the book in a variation of late middle English, but it appeared to be a dialect that was largely unfamiliar. Embossed leather covered the book, with a pattern of sunbursts and diamonds over it. The illuminated vellum pages were exceptionally high quality, with maps and illustrations that were peculiar. Some were recognisably from the natural world but some were unfamiliar and seemed to be a fantasy of the part of the creators. It was missing any title pages, launching straight into the text that appeared to be describing plants, animals and locations.

 

***

 

Maggie studied the book until late that evening. She kept half an eye on the ABC’s millennium countdown, but she had muted the TV. Half a wedge of Tasmanian camembert cheese and a handful of rice crackers were the remains of her dinner, and she felt buzzed after several cups of strong Earl Grey tea. Maggie had bundled her dark red hair up into a messy bun that was rapidly coming undone. She ignored it.

With a frown at her book, Maggie thumbed through her middle English dictionary. There seemed to be some manner of chant or spell in the book, but it lacked context. The most fantastical of the illuminations surrounded it. Something was just odd about the book. It felt a little… off… now that she had spent so much time with it. Like a buzzing sound just beyond hearing.

“I bet if I had a cat they could hear it,” she said aloud, then cringed as her voice echoed in the silent apartment.

She sighed and glanced at the TV. It was almost midnight. Rubbing her eyes Maggie looked at the book again. Something about thedas? Could thedas be a proper noun? Something about being faded, or that something became a fade? That made no sense. Squinting at the book she whispered the words aloud “âsendan me to sê fealwian of thedas”.

The sound of distant fireworks startled Maggie, and the clock struck midnight with a jarring intensity.

The buzzing sound launched itself from just beyond the realm of hearing into a deafening roar. A flash ripped across her vision, and everything went bright green then black.

 

***

 

Forcing her eyes open, Maggie grimaced and spat out a mouthful of dirt. Her apartment had disappeared, and she had fallen sprawled on the ground on top of the book she’d been reading from. It now had singed quality, as did her clothes. Whatever just happened had destroyed her gloves and she removed them, dropping them on the ground in disgust.

Maggie looked blearily around. The light here had a green quality, and above and around her were floating rocks. In the distance she could see the silhouette of some towers and a city.

On unsteady legs she stood up, then bent down to carefully grabbed the strange book, clutching it to her chest.

Licking her dry lips, Maggie explored her surroundings. Everything nearby consisted of just rocks and dirt, with that greenish tinge and a strange washed out, faded quality. Time seemed to take on an ephemeral quality. The world narrowed to the endless sepia sameness.

The buzzing from the book had disappeared.

“So, I’m tripping balls right now because of you.” she said to the book, “I must have fallen asleep at the table because this is one crazy dream. Thanks for all of this. Clearly I’ve been working too hard.”

_You are talking to a book,_ _you weirdo,_ Maggie thought, _but hey, at least it’s not talking back. Yet._

She patted the book. “To be fair, this weird barren dreamscape is probably still better than a Spice Girls party.”

What could have been a minute or an hour later, Maggie looked up and blinked. A slash of glowing green cut into the air had interrupted the endless sameness, and she turned her steps towards it.

“Come on, book, let’s go and check this out.” Maggie said, finding comfort in the sound of her own voice breaking the oppressive sameness.  

She kept walking, her eyes on the rift that only slowly seemed to get closer. Maggie clutched the book to her chest and breathed in the smell of old leather, embracing it like a fragile but very real connection to her own reality.

Closer to the rift, Maggie became aware of a distant skittering noise. She whirled around, and saw the shapes of huge black ethereal spiders advancing in a pack.

Maggie tucked the book under an arm, and set off at a run towards the green glowing rip.

The noise of the spider creatures became louder and closer, and she redoubled her efforts, wheezing with exertion. Terror threatened to overwhelm her. The faint clattering of their legs sounded like fingernails drumming relentlessly on a blackboard.

_Okay book, what the fuck kind of dream is this?_ she thought frantically, _giant crazy nightmare spiders? Really?_

Something became visible through the glowing tear, it looked like the sliver of a window into a meadow.

Maggie glanced over her shoulder as the spiders were almost upon her. Not knowing a better option, she launched herself into the rift.

Her body twisted as she got yanked through the fissure. Maggie hit the ground with a thud, all the breath leaving her lungs, and she blacked out.

 

***

 

When Maggie came to again, she looked to the side and took a deep breath. Her body had landed on some rocky grass in the centre of a grove of trees, under a blue sky scarred by a larger version of the rip she’d launched herself in to. Her ankle throbbed, and she cried out in pain.

“Shit,” she muttered, “where are we this time, book?”

The singed book remained blessedly inert, but the ground to the side bubbled and churned and from a distance came a series of faint screeches. With the book like a shield in front of her, Maggie staggered painfully upright and began limping towards the trees.

Before she’d taken five steps, the air around filled with a terrible shrieking sound. Something grasped Maggie from behind and twisted her around to face it. It was tall, black and composed entirely of long knobbly limbs. Maggie screamed in terror, frantically scrabbling backwards. Her hand hit a rock, and she blindly seized it, hurling it at the creature. The rock hit the monstrosity in the head, stunning it momentarily.

“Good shot,” said a man’s voice as a large armour-clad figure leapt out of the trees and onto the creature.

He wielded, of all things, a sword and he hacked at the creature.

“What the hell?” Maggie gasped, hastily backing up towards the trees.

“I don’t know who Hell is,” the man said as he took another swing and the creature’s head came off its body, “but you and I need to get out of here.”

He moved rapidly for someone clad in metal and scooped her up, slinging her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Multiple distant screeches became louder each second.

Maggie squawked indignantly. “Put me down, you creep.”

“You can’t run,” he puffed against her hip, “my horse has disappeared and I’m not leaving you to be eaten by demons.”

Maggie groaned. “For fucks sake, demons? This is the worst dream I’ve ever had.”

She and the book hung over his shoulder for several minutes as he covered good ground away from the rocky meadow. The sounds of pursuit began to die away. His armour dug into her torso and she squirmed uncomfortably, causing the man to stagger, almost dropping her.

“Please keep still.” the man said, incongruously cheerful. “It might cause some bother if they kill us.”

They eventually came upon what he seemed to be looking for; a cave on the edge of a stream. He splashed through the water, grumbling a little at the slippery footing.

He gently placed her against the wall just inside the cave and headed back out.

_So first spiders, then demons, now this odd man,_ Maggie thought as she watched the stranger scanning the horizon, _is this going to turn into a freaky sex dream? Because that would be beyond awkward in a musty old cave with demons somewhere outside. No, that would be too weird, even for this clusterfuck of an experience._

“When we get home, I’m shelving you into the general collection and you can just take your chances there.” Maggie whispered fiercely to the book, which she had cradled on her lap.

When her rescuer came back, he sat awkwardly on the ground. Taking his helmet off, he ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up in spikes. Strawberry blonde hair and darker stubble framed his face while his eyes were a warm amber brown. The man looked a little older than Maggie, maybe in his early 30s.

He looked at Maggie and grinned. “Well that was exciting. The demons were unexpected but there you go. Lucky I bought my helmet!”.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my lovely sister [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for her assistance with editing and general sibling helpfulness :D

Maggie examined her ankle. She’d only been wearing socks and slippers when the strange situation had occurred, and they had provided little support. She gingerly eased both the fuzzy purple slipper and her green and pink sock off. Her ankle was turning dark blue, but she could move it a little so it seemed like a sprain and not a fracture.

She didn’t appear to be in immediate danger. There were no sounds of demon pursuit outside. The stranger seemed harmless enough, he’d removed the bulkier parts of his armour and propped his sword up near the cave entrance.

A further examination of the book had yielded no new information. It was silent and still. The writing appeared a little faded but that could be the dim light in the cave.

The cave itself was cool and damp, the stone side uncomfortable to lean against. Moss covered the roof and water occasionally trickled down to run down Maggie’s back, prompting her to yelp. Her singed clothes didn’t provide much protection. She’d donned her slippers, faded dinosaur print pyjama pants and a battered old Nirvana band t-shirt during the evening. Nothing about her clothing was suitable for any adventures except for staying inside an apartment on a warm Sydney summers night.

Her formerly sword wielding rescuer had given her a long look initially, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. After that he kept on eyeing her and her apparel with polite curiosity. Maggie was not in the mood for small talk. Particularly small talk with an apparent figment of her imagination.

The man shuffled across the cave floor to pick up her slipper, scrutinizing it. He turned it upside down and poked the sole.

“What material is this made of? It doesn’t feel like leather or wood.”

Maggie blinked, her reverie broken. “Oh, ah, rubber I believe? I’m pretty sure the top is polyester, and the sole is rubber.”

The man frowned at the slipper. “The make is top quality and I’ve never heard of materials like that.” He picked up her damp sock and held it in front of his eyes.

“Hey! That’s gross, stop that.” Maggie said as she tried to lunge forward to snatch the sock out of his hands, but she jolted her ankle and yelped in pain.

“Did you knit this?” he asked, still squinting at the sock.

“What? No, I did not knit that, I bought it. Now give it back please.”

He cautiously handed the flaccid sock back to her. “It’s incredible, I can hardly see the stitches. Where in Thedas did you buy that?”

Maggie carefully slipped the sock back over her swollen foot, wincing at the pain. “I don’t know what ‘thedas’ is, but these socks came from the Centrepoint mall. There was a cute little shop selling socks and undies. I liked these because of the jaunty stripes.”

The man looked searchingly into her eyes. “You must have hit your head harder than I supposed. We’re in Thedas. Well, we’re near Denerim which is the capital of Fereldan which is in Thedas.”

There was a pause as Maggie digested this information.

She scowled at the tome on her lap. “This is an incredibly detailed hallucination. There is no way anything this complex could be a dream. What are you doing to me, you infernal book?”

Fortunately, the book continued to not reply.

The man looked taken aback. “Well, you appear to be awake and I assure you we are definitely here in this cave. Aaaand why are you talking to a book?”

Maggie huffed and didn’t reply.

The silence stretched out.

“Well, what are you doing here?” Maggie asked him, trying to pull her slipper back on. It hurt too much, so she gave it up as a bad job.

The man looked cagey for a second, but then schooled his face to a polite cheerfulness again. “I was just… out for a ride on this fine day.”

“You were out for a ride and you happened to be fully armed and suddenly there were demons?” Maggie said, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

“Surely it’s no more peculiar than falling out of a fade rift, wearing the oddest clothing I’ve ever seen and then requiring a rescue?” said the man, looked pointedly at her pyjama pants.

Maggie exhaled in frustration. “Why did you rescue me then?”

He gave her a brilliant smile. “I like rescuing damsels in distress.”

Maggie glowered at the strange man. The conversation was getting worse every time he opened his mouth. “I’m scarcely a damsel in distress.”

“Well you did throw that rock at the terror demon, that was very brave.” he said soothingly as he picked up her slipper again to examine the fluffy upper portion.

“Where I come from, we aren’t required to attack fairy-tale creatures, or whatever the hell those things are.” Maggie said, and shuddered as she remembered the black limbs reaching for her.

He looked up from his fluff examination. “Where are you from? I can’t place your accent.”

She sighed, wishing things were back to normal, and she didn’t have to explain herself. “I’m from Sydney. We have beaches and an Opera House. The worst thing you’d expect to have happen is some bogans throwing a loud party next door and keeping you awake.”

The man blinked, his face going blank in confusion. “You’re certainly speaking Common but you aren’t making any sense. Are you from across the western sea? Is Spicellennium where Sydney is?”

Maggie’s jaw dropped open at the suggestion. “What the actual fuck?”

He shrugged. “You were muttering the word Spicellennium when you were passed out in the grove, I thought it must be where you are from.”

Maggie dropped her head back against the dank wall of the cave and took a deep fortifying breath. “We need to stop talking. The only thing worse than just having a hallucination is also conversing with some hot guy my brain conjured up.”

“I’m not so hot now I took my armour off.” he replied, shooting her a winning smile. “I’m actually a little chilly, do you think we might get a storm?”

Maggie closed her eyes and groaned helplessly.

They sat in silence for a while.

The man shifted awkwardly. “Alright look, may I ask what your name is? And why you fell out of a fade rift?”

Maggie opened her eyes. He was looking at her earnestly. “Okay why not. I’m Maggie MacConnell. I was in my apartment reading this book,” she said and gave the book a vicious poke, “and then I was in a crazy ass place getting chased by giant spiders and then I ended up here getting chased by demons. And here we are.”

“I see. Maggie MacConnell. Sounds like a Starkhaven name though your accent is wrong. Well, I’m Alistair,” he said, pausing slightly, “ah, Alistair Theirin.”

Maggie was used to observing people, judging their reactions and schooling hers in response. Her Dad had been a mean drunk, and a childhood spent being on tenterhooks around him had uses in adulthood.

She had been treating this situation and this man like they were nothing more than vivid dreams. Her guard was well and truly down, something she had only ever done with her Mum, brother and close friends. The more she watched this man the more subtlety she could see in his expressions and behaviour. He was one hell of a detailed figment of her imagination because he had been carefully watching her face when he said his name as if he expected a reaction to it.

“Pleased to meet you.” Maggie said, defaulting to standard politeness. She held out her hand for him to shake.

They regarded each other. He leaned forward and shook her hand.

Alistair leaned back against the wall again. “Soooo where you said you were from, Sydney was it? It sounds like you walked through the Fade to come here. We’d have to talk to a mage. I was sent to the Fade once, it’s a very scary place. You didn’t see anyone you know, did you?”

Maggie blinked. “Just the spider things. No other humans.”

“Interesting. An acquaintance of mine recently went through a similar experience. May I see your hands?”

Maggie raised an eyebrow, but held her hands out towards him, palms up. They were grubby but otherwise unmarked.

Alistair regarded them. “Okay. Thank you.”

He didn’t comment further. She looked at her hands, then tucked them under the book. The movement caused the book to fall open. It was a page she hadn’t studied closely, with an illustration of a fancy building in a medieval city. The world ‘thedas’ caught her eye, and she remembered Alistair saying that word.

_Maybe that’s what I was reading before I fell asleep,_ she reasoned, _my brain is giving the word a context._

A sudden tearing sound jolted Maggie from her thoughts. Opening her eyes, she found Alistair ripping a strip of cloth from along the hem of his shirt.

“Dare I ask what you are doing?” she enquired, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

“I’m going to wrap up your ankle. There will be some, ah, friends looking for us. They’ll have horses, since mine bolted at the first sign of demons. If they don’t find us soon, I’ll have to carry you back to Denerim.” He said as he carefully pulled her sock down to wrap the cloth around her ankle with surprising nimbleness.

Ruefully, Maggie laughed. “Carry me again? Good luck with that.”

He looked her up and down and gave a nod, seemingly satisfied with what he saw. “You are quite sturdy and healthy, but I’ll be able to carry you just fine. Wherever you are from must have excellent food. Your teeth are impressive too.”

Suddenly self-conscious she ran her tongue over her teeth. “Oh. Thanks? I guess. Gotta love that Medicare dental scheme.”

They lapsed into silence again as Alistair finished wrapping her ankle and gently pulled the sock back over it.  
“That was kind, thank you.” said Maggie, wiggling her foot experimentally. It hurt a little less with the strapping.

He beamed at her again. “Anything for a damsel in distress.”

Maggie shook her head. “Very funny.”

Alistair cocked his head sideways and pointed to her pyjama pants. “Your breeches,” he said, “what manner of creatures are painted on them?”

“My br… oh. Ah, these are dinosaurs,” said Maggie, pointing to a pink cartoon triceratops, “they used to live in my world. They died out 65 million years ago.”

Alistair blinked rapidly. “65 million years ago. Your people have a history going back such an impossible time?”

Maggie considered the breadth of earth’s history. “Yes. Yes we do. But we only know about dinosaurs from digging up their bones.”

Alistair frowned at the triceratops. “So how do you know that they were like tiny pink, fat wingless dragons?”

“Oh no, that’s just a cute picture. Palaeontologists can construct dinosaurs from their fossilised bones. They were huge and fierce. Not cute and fluffy.”

“Right. Ooookay.” Alistair said, sounding unconvinced.

There was a commotion outside the entrance to the cave, and a white-haired man in his late middle age stuck his head inside.

“My King, there you are!” he called in profound relief.

There was a brief pause.

“My what now?” said Maggie incredulously.

She thought she caught a slight wince, but then Alistair’s face went perfectly blank and he stood up.

“I trust my guards informed you of my whereabouts Eamon?”

The older man looked agitated. “Your majesty, we’ve had this discussion. You can’t run off and disappear by yourself.”

“I told the guards where I was going for a ride and I am quite capable of defending myself. I’ve been King for 10 years now, if anyone was going to assassinate me they’d have done it already.”

“My liege…” Eamon stopped talking and sighed heavily. Clearly this was a conversation they’d had numerous times before.

Maggie stared wordlessly at Alistair, her mouth open.

Eamon swung his gaze to Maggie and scowled at her.

“Your majesty if you require a whore for an assignation we can have a clean girl bought to the palace for your personal use. You needn’t hide with one here in a dirty cave.”

His words took a few seconds to register with Maggie. She swivelled her gaze to the older man, then tipped her head back and laughed. “What the hell? You think I’m a hooker? In dinosaur pyjamas? Oh gods I wish Ruby was here, she’d crack up.”

Alistair’s ears had turned red, but his face remained impassive. “Lady Maggie fell out of a fade rift, Uncle. She was set upon by demons and required my aid to reach this cave.”

Maggie snorted, remembering being hauled ungracefully over Alistair’s shoulder.

“She is not a woman of, ah, ill repute.” Alistair continued, “She is a victim of circumstance and we will be offering her every curtesy and assistance.”

Eamon looked at Maggie the way Maggie looked at cockroaches. “Are you certain she’s not some kind of desire demon, your majesty? Or an apostate?”

“She’s not a mage, Eamon, and I hardly think she’s a desire demon.” Alistair said drily, taking in her apparel.

“Wait, a mage? Like a wizard? With magic?” Maggie said, her voice pitching up in disbelief.

Alistair gave her a sidelong glance. “You aren’t a mage. I cast a Silence earlier, and you didn’t react.”

“Magic. I see.” She said weakly.

Maggie shut her eyes and focused on her breathing techniques.

_In two three four five_ , she thought, _and hold and out two three four five. You are a delicate butterfly floating in the breeze. Everything is fine._

She opened her eyes, and both men were staring at her.

Alistair shook himself a little and focused back on his uncle. “Let’s keep her origin to ourselves, at least until we can consult with the Inquisition about it. We’ll say she’s…” he paused, and looked Maggie up and down with a small smile on his face, “an exiled member of the royal family from across the western sea, from Spicellennium. A merchant ship dropped her off along the coast, but she got lost trying to find her way to claim sanctuary in the palace in Denerim.”

Maggie made a strangled noise.

“We’ll need to send a raven to Leliana,” Alistair continued, “letting her know we’ve got a rift this close to Denerim. And we’ll need a constant watch to kill the demons who spawn until we can get it closed.”

There was a brief but loaded silence in the cave.

“Now, would you like to accompany us to the palace, my lady?” Alistair asked as he extended his hand to her.

Maggie grasped his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. She hopped but retained her balance.

This Uncle Eamon looked like he could benefit from her breathing techniques. “Your majesty, are you absolutely sure it’s wise asking this… individual to be a guest at the palace? She has an ill-favoured look.”

Alistair drew himself up even further, ignoring the words of the older man. “Would you please have the guards bring my mount to the cave mouth, Lady Maggie will ride with me back to Denerim.” His words were crisp, and he turned to put his armour back on, clearly expecting unquestioning obedience.

Eamon pressed his lips into a thin line, but acquiesced.

When they were alone Alistair relaxed again. He cast a sidelong glance at Maggie as he strapped his breastplate back on.

She licked her lips nervously. “So, King, eh. You kept that one quiet, er, your majesty.”

Alistair visibly winced, “Please, just Alistair when we are alone. You don’t seem to be one of my subjects after all. We can keep the ‘your majesty’ business for when other people are around.”

_This may not be a weird demon infested sex dream_ , Maggie thought, _but if it’s a weird demon infested royal sex hallucination that might not be terrible. Alistair is quite attractive. Thanks for that at least, book._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know it was tenterhooks, not tenderhooks? 
> 
> No? 
> 
> Me neither!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my sister [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for the editing love!

Maggie had never ridden a horse. She had certainly never considered riding a horse whilst pressed bodily into the back of an attractive hallucination. A friendly and cheerful royal hallucination who smelled compellingly like leather and heroism. One who cut off the head of a demon to save her, then hauled her off like a sack of potatoes to save her useless ass.

She had to admit; she enjoyed the view of the countryside. The wretched book had been safely ensconced in Alistair’s saddlebags, so she was free to hang on to him. She devoted herself to trying not to fall off the horse and simultaneously take in the scenery. It consisted of wooded copses, small peasant farms and green meadows. Living in the vast urban sprawl of Sydney, Maggie didn’t do nature. Greenery was the basil she paired with tomatoes and a good quality bocconcini. Nature was the aloe vera plant that was still somehow alive and living in a pot on her small balcony. Wildlife were the geckos living on the outside of her window screens.

 _This is nice though_ , Maggie thought, _if someone said “picturesque farmland” this is what I’d imagine. Well, right up until when the ground starts vomiting demons again. That wasn’t so fun._

“Are you okay back there?” Alistair glanced over his shoulder at her.

His breastplate had irritated her own chest area, but she wasn’t about to admit that. Her legs were bare to the knee because her pyjama pants were not exactly suitable for riding, but he gallantly ignored them so she did too. Her ankle jolted against the side of the horse, and shot pain up her leg.

“Oh just great, thanks.” she said, muffled against his back.

Alistair’s Uncle Eamon and an assortment of guards rode close behind them, as if they were expecting Alistair to tear off on his own again. She felt Eamon’s eyes on her back.

 _He’s probably expecting me to reveal my true demonic form,_ Maggie thought, _maybe he thinks I’m a vengeful succubus ready to sink my lustful talons into the back of his poor innocent King. Being considered a potential demon really isn’t how I expected to see in the new millennium._

Maggie laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it.

Alistair twisted around so he could see her out of the corner of his eye. “A copper for your thoughts?”

Maggie snorted. “This has been a very strange experience. Also I’m definitely not a demon.”

Alistair grinned. “Well I’m glad to hear that. I’d hate to be riding along having a lovely time and then  an enormous scary demon attacks me from behind.”

Maggie hummed in agreement.

“Before we get to your palace,” she said, “You want me to tell people I’m an exiled royal person from across the western sea? How do I, um, be royal? You’re my first one. How do I act?”

Alistair shrugged. “Being from a faraway land covers any mistakes or slip ups. People are afraid of the Fade, that spider place you walked through to get here, but if you leave that part out you’ll be okay. Just say you are an exile who ended up here and leave it at that.”

Maggie considered this. “I should give myself a great reason for being exiled. Maybe my parents the King and Queen caught me having an orgy with 10 court bards.”

Alistair laughed. “Is that what you do in your world for fun? Wait, don’t tell me. I’m not sure I want to know.”

Maggie giggled. “Sadly no, I live a boring and disappointingly chaste life. But I like the idea that if I WAS a princess, I totally would have done that.”

Alistair thought for a minute. “Perhaps we say you went on a great quest to find that book, but at the end of the quest your companions turned on you, and in self-defence you killed them to stop them taking the book for themselves and your family unjustly exiled you for that.”

Maggie was unable to see Alistair’s face, but the set of his shoulders looked smug.

“That’s… colourful.” Maggie said, mulling it over, “And people would expect me to study the book instead of, you know, having an orgy. So that’s a more reasonable expectation.”

 Alistair shook his head a little. “Indeed.”

“I might have killed them by throwing books. That’s about as far as my self-defence skills go.” Maggie said, grinning at Alistair’s back.

“You can’t use any weapons? At all?” Alistair sounded incredulous.

“Hell no. We use our words, not our weapons.”

“Maker’s breath. We’ll at least have to teach you to use a dagger to defend yourself.” Alistair still sounded shocked at her lack of weapons training.

Maggie considered this. “I don’t think I could stab anyone. Anything. The most violent thing I’ve ever done was throw a rock at someone and that was today. Also it was a terrifying demon.”

“Even so, you should learn some basic skills. We live in uncertain times.”

Maggie didn’t feel up to an argument about her inability to poke knives into things. She gave Alistair a vague “Okay.” and didn’t press the point further.

They had been approaching the walls of a large city for some time now. Maggie smelled the faint tang of the ocean. There were seagulls wheeling around.

 _I wish I had some hot chips to throw them_ , Maggie thought, smiling to herself as she remembered her Mum telling her and Jon off for doing just that when they were kids. The three of them would have trips to the beach almost every weekend, especially when Dad had been drinking. Mum would buy them each some chips then a Golden Gaytime ice cream as a treat if they were well behaved. Maggie felt the usual wave of love tempered with the jab of sadness she got when thinking about her Mum and brother. She sighed and shook herself a little.

They passed by some guards, who saluted smartly. Maggie looked around eagerly, then did the best double take she was able to do from horseback.

“Was that… was that man an elf?” she said, startled. “He didn’t look human at all.”

“Yes we’ve recruited many elves into the city guard in the past 10 years. Do you not have elven guards in Spicellenium?”

“Sydney. I’m from Sydney.” Maggie corrected him absently. “We don’t have elves. Elves are not a thing except for in stories.”

 She looked around the thickening crowds in the city. There were more pointed ears in view as well as a handful of very short stocky individuals.

“Um, and you have dwarfs? Don’t tell me, you’ve also got a population of halflings, orcs and goblins too.”

Alistair sounded perplexed, “Yes we have a large amount of surface dwarfs here. I’m not sure what those other things are.”

Maggie had a sudden idea. “Oh no. This isn’t middle earth is it? Have you heard of Sauron?”

“I told you, we’re in Denerim. Denerim in Fereldan. Fereldan in Thedas.” Alistair said patiently, drawing out the e’s in Thedas.

 _Don’t be idiotic Maggie,_ she thought, _this isn’t a fictional world. People don’t just fall into stories._

Maggie looked more closely at the crowds in the streets. They just looked like normal people going about their lives. Some had slim builds and points to their ears, some were short and stocky, and some were clearly human. They pointed to her and Alistair, bowing or pressing their fists to their chests in what must be a salute.

It felt real, Maggie had to admit. She fixed her eyes on Alistair. Her arms were around him and he was a solid weight against her front. The tips of his hair were a little sweaty against his neck and he breathed and cleared his throat and wiped his forehead and was totally and believably human.

So she was probably here but where was here? Another dimension? Another planet? Presumably this had something to do with that infernal book.

 _Magic isn’t real,_ Maggie frowned at the notion, _but here I am. If there is one thing I can do, it is study and research a problem. An exiled member of a far away royal family can surely be allowed to study._

“And this is the palace.” Alistair’s voice broke into Maggie’s reverie.

She jumped as his voice intruded on her thoughts. “Oh that’s beautiful…” her voice trailed off as she took in the view. The castle had an imposing front entrance with a 4-storey tower and massive double doors. Crenulations lined the roof. It was three storeys tall with large colourful many-paned windows.

It looked familiar.

“Oh no. Stop, stop the horse.” Maggie pleaded, poking Alistair’s armour clad back.

They stopped, and Alistair twisted around to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

Maggie was shaking. “Shit. I need my book. Now please.”

He reached down and fished the book out of his saddlebag, handing it over his shoulder to her. Maggie thumbed through the pages until she found the picture she’d seen in the cave.

“Fuck.” She whispered, leaning forward to show Alistair the drawing.

He pondered it. “Well, your book has a lovely rendering of Denerim Palace. Someone has quite wonderfully captured the light off the stained-glass windows.”

Maggie leaned her forehead against his back. “How? How the fuck?”

“Let’s get you settled in the palace.” He said soothingly, patting her knee. “We can’t do anything about your situation here and now.

When they reached the stables, Alistair swung gracefully off the horse. Maggie considered how to dismount, and settled for a kind of awkward sideways slide, since Alistair was hovering nearby and looking like he could catch her.

“Thanks.” she muttered as he gently set her on her undamaged foot and stood close enough that she could hold on to his arm for balance.

“Your majesty.” a lanky young man said, taking hold of the horses bridle and giving a deep bow. “My apologies for letting Arl Eamon know of your whereabouts.” He cast a nervous eye at the retinue of guards and a scowling Uncle Eamon who had arrived at the stables just behind Maggie and Alistair.

Alistair sighed. “Next time, Mica, I’ll sneak out at night.”

Eamon made a noise like a strangled possum.

There was a bustle of activity as Mica and the other grooms swarmed their group, taking the horses away.

Maggie stood inelegantly on one leg, trying not to gawk at the unfamiliar activity. She was aware of her pitiful state of dress, her pyjama pants looking less dinosaur print and more muddy. She also wasn’t sure her battered old Nirvana t-shirt was appropriate wear for a palace.

Alistair interrupted her thoughts. “I’ll carry you to my seneschal, Mistress Torwin. She’ll find you some clean clothes and some rooms to stay in. She can organise one of the healers for your ankle too.”

Maggie cleared her throat and blanketed herself in politeness. “That’s very generous, thank you Alistair. This has all been a bit overwhelming, so I appreciate your assistance.”

Alistair patted her arm. “We’ll find a way to get you back home, don’t worry.”

 

***

 

Maggie sat on a chair with her freshly bandaged ankle propped up on a stool in front of her. She leaned down and placed the empty potion bottle on the floor beside her. She could still taste the thickly bitter substance in her mouth, but her ankle was rapidly starting to become less painful.

Mistress Torwin was a stern woman with iron grey hair pulled severely back in a bun. She had seated across from Maggie and regarded the younger woman unblinkingly.

“You’re a minor member of the Spicellennium royal family?” Mistress Torwin sounded sceptical. She gave Maggie’s grubby sleepwear an extreme side eye.

Maggie suppressed a wince. “Yes.”

“And your family exiled you?” she said, pursing her lips.

“Y… yes.”

“And King Alistair has given you sanctuary here.”

“Yes.”

“And do you have any actual skills?

There was a lengthy pause.

“Can you sew?” Mistress Torwin said as she looked down her nose at Maggie.

Maggie laughed nervously. “Not well.”

Mistress Torwin frowned. “Can you knit?”

“No.”

“Embroider?”

“No.”

“Any needlework in general?”

“Nope.”

“Healing skills?”

“Ah, I’m great at mending books.”

“Herb lore?”

“No. Unless knowing to tear and not slice basil counts?”

“Weapon skills?”

“My sparkling wit?”

Mistress Torwin sighed heavily.

Maggie licked her lips. “Well, I can read and write?”

The seneschal brightened slightly. “Yes, that is a useful skill.”

“I spent time as a librarian back in, ah, Spicellennium. In the royal… palace….”

Mistress Torwin gifted Maggie with a faint smile. “That may actually prove useful. Our palace librarian left us recently under less than salubrious circumstances. You can use your time in exile here assisting in the palace library.”

“That actually sounds fun. I do love a challenge.”

Mistress Torwin stood up and Maggie followed suit. She put some weight on her injured ankle and found she could walk, albeit with a limp.

“I’ll show you to the library and then to your quarters. I’ll have some dinner sent up for you tonight and one of the maids can show you to the palace dining room for breakfast tomorrow,” she said as she eyed Maggie, “and I’ll have some decent clothing sent to your rooms.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Golden Gaytimes! My kids love them :D  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/159497572@N07/44810847481/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my sister [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) and thanks for not shouting at me over my inability to use commas properly :D
> 
> Also thanks to my other sister [Lokaal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokaal/pseuds/Lokaal) who helped when I couldn't use my words and forgot all of the synonyms of 'put'.

Maggie sat down on her new bed. The size of her suite was modest, but the decorations were elegant, with a couple of tasteful tapestries featuring large dogs with stumpy tails and solidly built horses. A small enclosed garderobe stood to the side of the room.  She saw a chest, presumably for her clothes and a small armour stand in the corner stood empty. A nightstand sat beside the bed. The room had large windows and she could see through to the city itself.

_Is this a specific chamber for ‘visiting royalty’?_ , Maggie mused, _since that’s what I am now. At least it’s bigger than my bedroom back home._

Tears pricked at her eyes at the thought of her home. Maggie found herself in the first moment of solitude and contemplation she’d had since the whole situation had arisen and a tangled mess of emotions sat heavily upon her. Her life didn’t provide much happiness; she’d found a measure of contentment and that was the best she expected. No one could foresee being turfed out of their existing life and into a crazy faux-medieval world of demons, royalty, and madness. Was her life going to be better or worse now?

Restlessness crawled under her skin like a fat Australian cockroach. What should she do now? It was one thing to be running on adrenaline after being chased by demons. Another thing entirely to function on basic social skills to cover her confusion when she talked with the inhabitants of this other world. If those social skills were even appropriate to this place. But this solitude? It proved to be something else altogether.

That blasted book, currently sitting on the bed next to her, provided her only connection to her own world.

“You’ve caused enough problems. You and your bloody picture of this palace and stupid writing. Sitting there all fucking smug.” Maggie muttered to it.

She angrily slammed a pillow on top of the book and stood up, wrapping her arms around herself. She stalked over to the window to lean against the frame. It overlooked a beautiful garden, providing a lovely view. She opened the window a crack and an herbal scent drifted up to her. A kitchen garden then, or perhaps medicinal. Maggie counted six people in servant’s livery tending the sizeable garden. They looked well fed and happy, chatting to each other as they worked. A fluffy ginger cat meandered around the legs of each person, looking for pats.

They, like everyone else she’d met in the past day, just seemed so… normal. But for the clothes and racial differences, they might be people in Sydney going about their daily lives. On the other hand, did meeting a king count as normal? Alistair had seemed very ordinary as well when it was just the two of them. Once she had stopped ignoring him and denying he existed.

_I’m probably not even going to see him again except from an appropriate distance_ , Maggie thought, _Mistress Torwin seems like she’s going to lock me in the library and throw away the key._

The seneschal had invited Maggie to breakfast in the great hall the next day. Perhaps that would give her the chance get her bearings a little better.

Mistress Torwin had taken her via the outside of the library on their way to her suite earlier. She wished she’d popped in and grabbed a book to read. No way did she have the emotional fortitude to read the bloody book from her own world right now.

Her current inaction gripped Maggie’s chest with anxiety. If she was at a loss for activities to do at home, she’d settle into doing routine things. Make a cup of tea. Watch a video. Listen to a CD. Read a novel. Phone Ruby or one of her other friends. Go for a walk. Everything here was too new.  Too different. Where would she go if she left her suite? Did she have permission to just wander around the palace? What could she possibly say to people? Was she stuck here for forever? Would she ever find out how Season Four of Buffy the Vampire Slayer ended? What would her friends and colleagues think when they found out she’d vanished?

The tears pricked at her eyes again. There was a metaphorical elephant sitting right there on her chest. Maggie huffed and flopped onto her back on the bed, staring up at the canopy above it.

If she went to sleep and woke up here that would make everything real. Until she slept, she knew she would hold on to the now vanishingly faint hope that this wasn’t happening. That this was an experience taking place within her own mind. If she woke up in this bed, then she’d have to work out what to do, how to function here.

The bed had a red blanket covering it. Her favourite snuggly blanket at home was red; her Mum had given it to her for Christmas years ago and even though it was threadbare in places Maggie still loved it and used it because it meant home and family and safety.

Maggie started to sob, covering her eyes and curling up on her side. It was too jarring going from what was a perfectly reasonable avoidance of a stupid themed party to being in a palace in another world. The experience had exhausted her; it had been late at night when everything she knew had been ripped away. Adrenaline had fuelled her to this point but now in the quietness of her room it had all disappeared.

Eventually she cried herself out and fell into a deep sleep.

 

***

 

Maggie awoke in candlelight to the sound of giggling. Her door cracked open, and she saw two entwined figures outlined in the light from the passageway outside.

They stumbled in the room and started passionately kissing. Maggie sat up, alarmed.

“Hello?” she said cautiously, and the two figures yelped and sprang apart.

“Oh nugshit,” said the person wearing a dress, “we thought this room was empty.”

Maggie regarded them in the dim light. The dress wearer was a sturdy young woman with elaborately coiffured black hair. She was grinning shamelessly at Maggie. Her partner was a more mature woman wearing a uniform similar to what Maggie had seen on Alistair’s guards. She had short wavy chestnut brown hair and looked more abashed.

The dress wearer strode forward without hesitation and held out her hand for Maggie to shake. “I’m Roh Aetumal, and this is my… bodyguard Eliza.”

Maggie snort laughed. “Bodyguard. Of course. Lovely to meet you both. I’m Maggie MacConnell.” she said, standing up and shaking the hands of both women.

Roh’s jaw dropped open as she looked at Maggie. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

Maggie looked down at herself, remembering her grubby pyjamas. “Oh, right. These are the clothes of my native land. Absolutely. With traditional illustrations featuring famous bards and sacred animals.”

Roh leaned in for a closer look and pointed at the pink triceratops on Maggie’s thigh. “That’s a sacred animal?”

“Yes.” said Maggie, deadpan. “Yes it is.”

The young woman straightened, then smacked herself in the forehead. “Oh! You are that mysterious exiled princess. We all heard about that. The King cradling you in his arms and taking you to the healers. Andraste’s tits I have the brains of a druffalo sometimes.”

Maggie had forgotten about her injured ankle. She wiggled it experimentally, it gave a slight twinge but otherwise seemed to be totally healed.

Roh was looking around Maggie’s room.

“Wow, what’d you do to piss off Mistress Torwin? I’d have thought you’d be in a proper royal suite.”

Eliza touched Roh gently on the arm. “My love,” she said, then paused and gave a delicate cough, “I mean my lady, we should be on our way before your lord father has reason to send someone looking for us.”

“Maker’s balls.” Roh said, grimacing. “Alright. Will I see you at breakfast tomorrow Maggie?”

“Ah yes, Mistress Torwin mentioned that. I’ll be there. It was nice meeting you both.”

Eliza looked startled at being addressed but Roh just grinned and gave Maggie a careless wave, heading out the door with her lover.

Maggie sat back down on the bed for a minute, slightly shell-shocked by the unexpected visit.

She took a deep breath and looked around the suite again. Someone had left a pile of clothes at the foot of her bed, a basin of water on the floor and some food on the nightstand. Maggie sat up and sighed, emotions still fragile and brittle from her sobbing fit earlier, but the anxiety and crippling indecision had receded with her tears and her unforeseen guests.

Maggie stood up again and examined the tray of food. There sat a thickly buttered chunk of white bread, a wedge of what looked like an aged cheddar cheese and cold sliced roast meat of indeterminate provenance. A green apple and a mug of ale sat beside the plate. She assembled a sandwich out of the food and ate mechanically. In spite of herself it tasted delicious, the cheese sharp and crumbly while the meat was succulent and reminiscent of beef. The ale was room temperature, but she was thirsty and drank it all anyway.

Somewhat fortified with food and drink, Maggie investigated the clothing. There were two dresses: one dark green and one dark red. There was a long tunic and a pair of leggings, one nightdress, and several pairs of what seemed to be underpants.  The last item Maggie picked up and inspected. It resembled the crop tops she’d worn in her early teens before graduating to underwire bras, but with more breast room and adjustable lacings up each side.

_It might be chunky but it’s better than a corset._ Maggie thought.

The texture of the garments was coarser than her own clothing, but they weren’t objectionable. She looked closely at the red dress and the boob restraint device. The fastenings didn’t seem too complicated, and they were mostly reachable, so she could manage.

Maggie considered what she’d seen other women wearing on her brief jaunt through the palace earlier. She stripped off her dirty clothes, gave herself a quick wash with the water from the basin and donned clean undergarments and the red dress. Maggie found no comb in evidence, so she finger combed her auburn hair as best she could and braided it back, tying it off with her own hair elastic. Luckily there was no mirror because Maggie was fairly certain she looked a fright.

Cleaner, dressed, and still smiling a little over the encounter with the noblewoman and her paramour, Maggie looked up when there came a timid knock at the door. A young elven woman stuck her head in and gave a shy smile. She had pale blonde hair tied back in a neat bun and huge green eyes.

“Pardon, my lady, I’ve come to see if the meal and clothing were to your liking,” she said deferentially, “I’m Emmie and Mistress Torwin has assigned me to help you during your stay.”

Maggie grinned and held out her hand towards the young woman. Emmie looked startled but shook Maggie’s hand.

“Hi Emmie. Call me Maggie, please.”

Emmie had a shocked expression. “Oh no my lady, Mistress Torwin said you were an exiled princess. I would never be so forward as to use your name.”

Maggie sighed but didn’t belabour the point.

“There was something actually, Emmie, I wonder if I could borrow a comb from somewhere? I wanted to go to the library but my hair must look like cats have been mating in it.”

 “Oh my apologies, I was going to put one with the clothes in the chest,” she said and produced a wooden comb from her pocket, “here let me fix that for you.”

Maggie obligingly sat sideways on the bed and Emmie carefully started to comb and then weave Maggie’s hair into intricate braids. “I heard from my friend Bess in the stables that King Alistair rescued you from demons,” she said, giving a wistful sigh, “he’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

Maggie hummed in agreement, supressing a wince at a particularly hard tug on her hair.

“He’s awfully nice too,” Emmie continued, “he smiles and says hello to all the servants. He’s much nicer than most of the nobles. They can be so snippy.”

She stopped suddenly and gasped.

Maggie twisted around to see what was wrong.

Emmie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry my lady, I didn’t mean to say you weren’t nice. You seem nice. A perfect princess and all.”

Maggie felt like a jerk for letting Emmie believe the royalty story. Her Mum had been a teacher and her Dad a mechanic. Her parents both worked hard, even her Dad, to give her and Jon the best lives they could.

Maggie sighed. “Please Emmie,” she said, “you can say whatever you like around me. I’m in a place that is very different to where I’m from and it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

Emmie nodded and sniffed a little. “Alright my lady. Let’s get your beautiful hair looking tidy again.”

She resumed her ministrations on Maggie’s hair.

“My Mum is Dalish,” Emmie said, “but she lives in the Alienage here in Denerim. She taught me the traditional elven braids. She was so proud when Mistress Torwin gave me the job here in the palace.”

“Is Dalish a type of elf? And I’m sorry, I’m not sure what an Alienage is, we don’t have those words where I come from.” Maggie said apologetically.

“You don’t have Alienages?” Emmie sounded shocked.

“We don’t have elves. Everyone is human.”

Emmie’s hands paused on Maggie’s hair. “No Elves. No Alienages.” she muttered and then resumed the elaborate hairstyle “Alienages are where elves live in cities. They can be terrible places, dirty and vermin infested, but since King Alistair took the throne 10 years ago the Denerim Alienage has been cleaned right up. We all have proper decent housing now with medical clinics and schools. He’s a good man for doing that for us.”

Maggie twisted around to look at Emmie. “Those things are just basic human rights. Well, basic elf rights? Where I come from everyone can access good schooling and healthcare, and housing if they need it.”

Emmie grimaced. “It sounds like a wonderful place my lady.”

Maggie had always taken for granted having hospitals, public schooling, clean well-maintained streets, trash removal, good housing, laws, and access to emergency services. Focused on her own corner of the world she went to work and lived her life without ever considering how lucky she was to live in a safe modern society. This world had demons and people openly carried weapons and elves were apparently required to live with vermin. This world was not safe at all.

Emmie’s voice broke into Maggie’s thoughts. “I’m done, my lady, it looks much tidier now.”

Maggie felt the back of her head. Emmie had wound a complicated series of braids over the back of her head, culminating in a braided bun fastened at the nape of her neck. It felt beautiful. Maggie wished she had a mirror.

“Thank you, Emmie,” she said, smiling at the young woman, “I just have one last request. Would you mind showing me to the library?”

 

***

 

Maggie bid Emmie farewell and pushed open the library door. To her surprise she found the room brightly lit, with a large familiar figure sitting at one of the tables reading a book, a platter of food beside him.

King Alistair marked his place with a finger, turning to face her with a pleased expression on his face. “Hello there. Would you care to join me for some cheese?”

Maggie squeaked in shock and jumped backwards, colliding with the doorframe.

He raised an eyebrow at her and Maggie flushed with embarrassment. She gave herself time to recover, looking away from him and around the room.  The room was two storeys high and shaped like a T, the walls lined almost entirely with packed bookcases. A thin walkway provided access to the upper storey and glowing wall lamps were mounted all around. Various plush rugs covered the floor, with what looked like a messy librarian’s desk sitting in the centre of the room. A large blazing fireplace sat at one end of the T top and in front of that were ornate armchairs. Alistair sat at a table which was in the lower part of the T shape.

“Ah, greetings your majesty.” She said apprehensively, walking over and gingerly sitting at the table beside him.

“Maker’s breath, I thought we’d already covered this. You’re the only person I’ve met who fell out of the Fade and then were rude to me. I think we can be informal with each other.”

“You picked me up like a sack of potatoes.” Maggie muttered.

“It’s called rescuing. Reeeescuing.” Alistair said, “Let’s just stick to Alistair and Maggie and you can ‘your majesty’ me in the throne room.”

There was an awkward pause. Maggie snickered.

“Yes, that came out wrong.” Alistair said, sighing heavily. “Um, here, have some cheese.”

He cut a slice of pale yellow cheese and held it out on the tip of the cheese knife.

Maggie plucked it off the knife and took a bite. The flavour was pleasantly mild and creamy.

“Very good,” Maggie said appreciatively, taking a seat, “what is it?”

“Halla milk Havarti. It can be hard to source but I have some Dalish friends who send me blocks from time to time.”

Rummaging around in a basket on the floor beside his chair, Alistair produced a bottle of white wine and some goblets. He gestured towards the wine and Maggie nodded her assent. He poured them both a measure of the wine and passed one to Maggie. She took a sip and hummed approvingly.

“It’s lovely wine. And I wasn’t intentionally rude to you, Alistair.” She emphasised his name, feeling more at ease now they were eating together.

He relaxed against the back of his chair and smiled widely at her. “You were a little hostile. I did save you from demons after all.”

“After I weakened that first demon with my mighty rock throwing skills,” Maggie said as she smiled back at him and cut herself another slice of the Havarti.

“I did notice a dazed look in the demon’s eye, your rock must have been why I beheaded it so easily.” Alistair said as he raised his goblet in a toast to her.

“I’ll drink to that.”

They drank in companionable silence for a few minutes.

Alistair sat forward and leaned towards Maggie. “Are your rooms to your satisfaction?”

She gestured towards herself. “Yes everything is lovely, thank you. I was given clothes, food, and a bed, that’s all I need.”

Maggie was curvier than most of the women she’d seen here, but the dress and chunky underwear did fit nicely. Curves were a price she’d gladly pay for the ability to eat delicious food without guilt.

“Sooooo.” he said, swirling the wine around his goblet. “Will you be ready to start Librarianing tomorrow?”

Maggie looked about the room and smiled her approval. “Yes, that sounds great. After breakfast.”

“Ahh the castle breakfast.” he said, his face going smooth and blank for a second before he looked at Maggie and emotion sparked back into it again. “I’ve asked Mistress Torwin to provide you with any materials you require. I will write to a Tevinter mage I know who is affiliated with the Inquisition. He might be able to provide assistance with your book and how to get you home.”

Maggie cringed at the word ‘mage’ but she covered it by helping herself to more cheese.

“Thank you, Alistair. Hmm. I’m betting computer systems are out. Do you have a card catalogue?”

“Do you mean a computer like an abacus? I believe Mistress Torwin has one of those. And yes, our former Librarian maintained a thorough card catalogue, it’s over there,” Alistair said, pointing to a case in the corner.

“I’ll, ah, let you know if I need to borrow an abacus. At least I won’t have to deal with any patrons throwing a temper tantrum because they can’t work out how to switch those on. I can manage just fine with a card catalogue.”

There was a firm knock at the door and a young human servant entered the library. He bowed deeply.

“Excuse me your majesty, but the scribe is ready and has collected the necessary supplies. You wanted to know right away.”

“Thank you, Tom.” Alistair said and stood up. He bowed formally to Maggie while the servant watched curiously. “I’ll be taking my leave. Goodnight, Lady Maggie.”

Maggie glanced at the servant then up at Alistair. “Goodnight, your majesty.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for the editing help!

“See that lady with the feathers in her hair?” Roh said through a mouthful of porridge, “The one whose head looks like birds mating?”

There were a surprising number of ladies with feathers in their hair for such an early hour. Maggie looked at the one with the most alarming plumage collection and said “Yes?”

“That’s Lady du Bois, wife of Orlesian Ambassador du Bois. She had an affair with our ex librarian Hubert. Or should I say Royal Librarian Hubert. He liked people to address him like that. Capital L capital R capital H.”

Maggie hummed an acknowledgement and kept eating. The dining hall was full of nobles, with servants scurrying around delivering food and drink. The fresh bread smelled exquisite and Maggie was very taken with the porridge. It tasted of honey and had delicious chunks of dried fruit.

Roh’s voice interrupted her contemplation of breakfast. “Ohh and the woman next to her. With the nose. In the green dress with the ruffles across her tits? She used to watch the King train every day, and would swoon so he’d notice her and think she was special. At least I think that’s why she thought it was a good idea. I dunno.”

“What did the king do?”

“Oh, he took to hauling a bucket of water with him to training so he could toss ladlefuls of water on her when she fell down. He said it was a trick he learned in the Grey Wardens for people with a nervous disposition. She gave up after that.”

Maggie laughed. She looked at where Alistair was sitting at the main table, surrounded by important people. He had the bland expression he got whenever he was in King Mode. She thought about the smiles he’d been giving her since they met, and her heart hurt a little.

Roh gestured with her spoon. “And those three raven haired beauties hanging off the King’s every word? Those are my sisters and cousin. The fearsome threesome,” Roh said and laughed ruefully. “Well my sister Jennet is okay, but my other sister Elinor and cousin Nia are bitches and a bad influence on Jen.”

“They are certainly beautiful.”

“Yeah well I look like our father. My sisters resemble our late lamented mother,” Roh said and looked over her shoulder to where Eliza was standing with other guards. She smiled again. “But that doesn’t matter.”

Maggie nodded in agreement, her mouth full of porridge.

“Ohh that man in the red jacket with the pot belly? That’s Bann Verland and rumours abound about what that guy’s in to. Someone mentioned nugs once, but I covered my ears at that point,” Roh said, shuddering.  

Maggie scraped the bottom of her bowl. “Wow, Denerim palace is a hotbed of drama.”

Roh nodded. “Bann Verland also had an affair with ex-Royal Librarian Hubert. Remind me to tell you about his exploits another time. I think the King is about to leave.”

Maggie looked over at Alistair who said something to his Uncle Eamon and Roh’s father Arl Aetumal, who both bowed solemnly. The King stood up and the rest of the hall followed suit. The guards all saluted smartly and Alistair strode out of the hall.

Roh gave Maggie a quick kiss on the cheek. “Gotta run,” she whispered, “before Father tracks me down and forces me to do needlework or dance lessons or something equally terrible.”

 

***

 

Maggie winced and started pacing around her room. “You mean everyone gets naked together? Including Alis… the King?”

Emmie laughed. “No, my lady, the King has his own private bathing room.”

“Lucky him,” Maggie muttered, pausing to look out over the garden. The fluffy ginger cat was back, this time it was rolling on top of some of the smaller herbs. She smiled as a gardener tried to chase the cat away. The cat moved a little to the side and started grooming vigorously, ostentatiously snubbing the gardener.

“And the major visiting nobles who have suites here will have the same,” Emmie continued.

“But everyone else? Tits and all?” Maggie said, looking back at Emmie, aghast. She was giving some serious consideration to never bathing again.

“There are screens,” Emmie said soothingly.

Maggie scowled. “Screens?”

“Well, some screens.”

Maggie gave Emmie a piercing glare.

“Okay my lady, there are two screens. But once you are sitting down you’ll be mostly private under the water.”

Maggie pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Mostly private. In return for being mostly clean.”

Emmie’s lips twitched in amusement. “Everyone else will be naked my lady. Do you need me to come and be naked with you for support?”

Maggie snorted. “It’s alright, I’m an adult. I’ll put on my big girl panties and manage. Heh, or, you know, take my big girl panties off.”

Emmie gathered up Maggie’s washing. “Did you need me for anything else, my lady?”

“Oh yes actually, I was wondering if you could help me with some items Mistress Torwin left for me,” Maggie said, standing up.

“Of course.”

Maggie opened the chest in the corner of the room and pulled out a small container of white powder.

She gave it a prod. “Ah, which part of me does this go on?”

Emmie giggled. “It’s a tooth powder, my lady. You use it before you go to bed to clean your teeth.”

Maggie shook the container dubiously. “Okay. And is there a brush to apply it?”

She fossicked around in the chest as she asked and came up with a small wooden brush.

“This?”

Emmie nodded.

“Alright. I think I can manage that,” Maggie said, putting the brush and white powder back and retrieving a jar of pale green powder. “And this one? Please don’t tell me that’s for my teeth as well.”

Emmie grinned. “No my lady, that one is powdered elfroot. You can dab some under your arms so they smell fresh and sweet.”

Maggie nodded. “Hmm, that actually sounds okay. That would explain why you all smell so good.”

Emmie leaned over her shoulder and pointed at some bottles. “Those are soaps for your hair and body, and some lotion to make your skin soft.”

“Okay,” Maggie said and pulled out a small box filled with layered cloths. “And these?”

“Oh they are for your moon blood.”

“My moon… oh. Ohhhh. Oh. Yes I see. Ah, and how do I get them to, um, stay in place to catch the menst… moon blood?” Maggie said, frowning at the wadded fabric.

Emmie rummaged around in the box and produced two long strips of material. “See the cloths have moss wadded inside and loops around each end. You poke these longer strips through the loops and secure it around your hips when the cloths are in place. Your smallclothes go over the top.”

Maggie grimaced. “Well. I did ask. I think my mum had something like this in the Fifties. But with less plant life and more cotton.”

Emmie looked blank. “What did you use usually in Spicellennium my lady?”

“Oh. Well one option was a kind of disposable plug we, ah, inserted to catch the blood.”

Emmie had a horrified expression.

“I’m making it sound bad, but it was very hygienic.”

Emmie looked unconvinced.

“Yes well. Thank you, Emmie. That was, ah, enlightening.”

 

***

 

Maggie clutched the towel around herself. No one seemed to look at her.

The palace bathing area was in the subterranean area of the palace. It was one big pool fed by hot springs. Maggie hadn’t known what to expect, but it looked like a public spa Ruby had once convinced her to attend at a local health club. Except with more obvious nudity.

Maggie was trying hard not to be prudish about this. No one else seemed bothered by flagrant displays of genitalia.

_Think of this as a naturist resort,_ Maggie thought, _no one is looking at you, no one cares._

Luckily Alistair wasn’t going to show up. That would have made it exponentially more awkward. Not that she would have minded seeing him undressed since he really was quite pretty, but having to pretend she didn’t mind casual nudity around attractive royalty was a bit of a stretch.

Maggie undressed behind one of the two screens and grabbed her bottle of what Emmie had claimed was hair soap. She scuttled to the pool as fast as she could without looking like she was scuttling. Or hunching over. Or trying to hide herself with her arms.

 The pool was lovely and warm and Maggie managed to cover enough of herself under the scented cloudy water that she could relax a little. She couldn’t tell the stations of the other people using the facilities since they were all in the buff, but luckily nobody was staring at anybody else.

Maggie started feeling more relaxed and uncomfortably reflective. She was going to need to study her book and see if the library held any resources she could use. It was hard not to get sucked into the minutia of everyday life here at the palace. She needed to focus on the problem at hand. Something had thrown her into another world and she needed to get home.

_There are better times to do this, brain,_ she thought, _than when my tits are floating in a communal bathing pool._

 

***

 

Freshly scrubbed and only residually embarrassed by what felt like the entirety of Denerim Palace seeing her naked, Maggie made her way to the library.

A dark-haired human woman about Maggie’s age was leaving as she arrived.

“You must be the new Librarian,” the woman said softly. She had armfuls of books with what looked like a lacy garment balanced on top. Noticing Maggie looking she used her chin to try to conceal it. “I’m Royal Librarian Hubert’s assistant Delia.”

“I’m Maggie MacConnell, pleased to meet you,” Maggie said, giving an awkward wave as Delia’s arms were full.

“Royal Librarian Hubert moved into the city last week, but the King said I may use the library as needed for my own research. I study the way non-mages can interact with the Fade.”

_The Fade was where the spider things were,_ Maggie thought. _Maybe if she turns out to be trustworthy she might be able to help with my little Getting Back To Earth problem._

Delia was edging down the hallway. “Nice to meet you, Lady Librarian Maggie, I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, see you soon, ah, Assistant Delia,” Maggie said cheerfully as she headed into the library.

The view was just as impressive as last night.

Maggie and Ruby had gotten drunk one night when they were undergrads at Uni and gone to the movies to catch the new Disney release Beauty and the Beast. This library reminded her strongly of the scene where Beast showed Belle his own library. Maggie wished there were mobile ladders here so she could slide along on one and do her own musical number. She grinned to herself.

There was an assortment of supplies on Maggie’s new desk. Someone had shoved rolls of what seemed to be blank parchment into a box on the floor. Ink, a writing quill and a pot of adhesive sat on the desk with what looked like a set of sealing wax paraphernalia.

She opened the top drawer. Scraps of parchment and more writing materials were there too, as well as what looked distinctly like a vial of oil. Maggie picked it up and unstoppered it, smelling it cautiously. It had a light floral scent, and the bottle was slippery around the neck. If it had anything to do with book wrangling, Maggie did not want to know.

There was a scrabbling sound under the desk. Cautiously she knelt and checked underneath.

Bright green eyes were glowing.

Maggie slid her hand slowly towards the eyes. “Well, hello there.”

The figure resolved itself to the form of the very fluffy ginger cat from the garden, who sniffed her hand then rubbed it’s face on her fingers. She leaned under the desk and started scratching the cat’s ears. The cat chirped at her.

“Well aren’t you a pretty kitty, yes you are,” Maggie crooned.

“Oh I see you’ve met Edith,” a familiar voice said from behind her.

“Gahhh!” Maggie shouted and leapt up and back with fright, banging her head on the desk as she staggered to her feet and then fell backwards. The cat hissed and retreated under the desk.

Alistair caught her and winced. “Sorry. There’s me being sneaky again. Skulking around the palace scaring people.”

He set her back on her feet, awkwardly patting her upper arms.

Maggie clutched her chest and took a deep breath. “No really it’s fine. I’ve been jumpy lately. Since I fell out of my reality. Just took a few years off my life.”

He bent over and waggled his fingers under the desk. “Edith was a gift from one of my old friends.”

The fluffy cat came out for a pat, casting a slightly suspicious stare at Maggie.

“He’s the Commander of the Inquisition forces at Skyhold,” Alistair continued. “They are the people working on closing all those pesky rifts. Edith is the daughter of Skyhold’s finest mouser.”

Maggie smiled. “If I’ve learned anything in the past couple of days, it’s that the Fereldan people prefer dogs.”

“We do, but cats are also useful. Aren’t you my beautiful fluffy princess? Who’s the prettiest girl in all of Denerim? Who is the clever girl who stops all those mice getting into all our cheese?”

Edith made a contented wrrrring noise and wound herself around Alistair’s legs.

Maggie laughed. “Are you sure you weren’t a gift to her?”

Alistair smiled ruefully. “It’s true, she does boss me around terribly. Yes you do my majestic ginger goddess,” he crooned, tickling under Edith’s chin. She looked smug.

“Is there any book I can help you find? I need to start getting acquainted with your collection,” Maggie said, and leaned back against her desk.

Alistair picked Edith up and she rubbed her head under his chin. “Not today, this is just a sneaky visit.”

Maggie reached over and ran her hand down Edith’s silky back. “Okay, all good.”

Alistair eyed her desk. “We might get you a new desk though.”

Maggie gave her desk a poke with her toe. “Ah, why? It seems sturdy enough”

“That’s the desk we caught the former Royal Librarian Hubert and Bann Victor’s wife, ah, wooing each other on. With her maid. And the Orlesian Ambassadors wife.”

Maggie stepped back and grimaced. “Wow. That’s… wow. Very, um, impressive. I mean, I hope someone cleaned it after that incident?”

“Yes thoroughly, but I’m currently having trouble getting that particular image out of my head every time I see that desk.”

“Oh. That bad huh?”

Alistair cringed. “You never met the former librarian. Without doubt those memories will haunt me forever.”

Edith jumped out of Alistair’s arms and onto the desk. She started sniffing the surface intently and rubbing her face on it.

Maggie and Alistair winced simultaneously.

“Definitely will get you a new desk.”

“I’ll work at one of the tables for the time being,” Maggie shook her head and gathered up her supplies.

They sat at a table.

Alistair produced a small bundle from his coat pocket. It contained a miniature wheel of cheese and tiny crackers.

“Do you… do you have pocket cheese?”

“It’s just some Lake Calenhad cheddar,” Alistair said defensively. “And I get snacky sometimes. Cook got sick of me always showing up in her kitchen for food so she started ordering me portable cheese.”

Alistair produced a small pocket knife and cut a chunk of cheese for Maggie, handing it to her with one of the crackers.

“Not bad,” she said popping it into her mouth, “a bit warm with a hint of King, but otherwise pretty tasty.”

“I saw you at breakfast this morning, talking to Lady Rohlessa Aetumal.”

“Oh Roh, yes she accidentally ended up in my room yesterday, so we sat together for breakfast.”

Alistair blinked. “She’s a bit scary. She always looks at me like she knows what colour my smallclothes are. Hah! Jokes on her, they are just white.”

“I liked her, she was funny and friendly. She reminds me of my friend Ruby.”

Maggie paused, swallowing the lump in her throat that came from remembering Ruby, and how worried she’d be that Maggie had disappeared.

“She’s definitely nicer than her sisters and their cousin though. Those three are terrifying in a pack. Like ravening wolves. Frilly well-groomed ravening wolves.”

Maggie hummed noncommittally. “I haven’t met them yet. I’m still in the getting to know people phase.”

Edith jumped onto Alistair’s lap, kneading his breeches. He winced at her claws. She purred contentedly and settled to sleep.

“Oh there was something I wanted to ask you. Roh said you were a Grey Warden? And you mentioned a Blight when we were in the cave yesterday. I wasn’t sure what those things were.”

“Thedas needs Grey Wardens to fight darkspawn and end Blights. Not so useful now as we were 10 years ago. Darkspawn are monsters who do nothing but corrupt, murder and destroy,” he said, getting a terrible distant look in his eyes. “The Blight is when the Archdemon, an old god, drives them up to the surface to devastate everything in their path. They destroyed huge parts of my country. Some parts will be useless for generations from the poison in the land.”

“So you were part of a specialist military group to destroy these monsters?”

He blinked and looked at her, seeming to come back to Thedas. He started absently patting Edith. “In a way. We killed the Archdemon and ended the Fifth Blight. They come around every couple of hundred years or so.”

“Are the Grey Wardens a large group?”

His face emptied of emotion.

“Just two Wardens were left in Fereldan after one man’s treachery killed the others. Natia Brosca, known as the Hero of Fereldan, was our leader and then there was me. She gathered a group of people to help us.”

“The Hero of Fereldan? She sounds important. Does she live here at the Palace too?”

A flash of pain crossed Alistair’s face so quickly that if Maggie hadn’t been watching him carefully she would have missed it.

“No,” he said shortly. “She and one of our group, an assassin, are down in the Deep Roads. A series of old Dwarven ruins underground. That’s where the Darkspawn are from.”

Maggie didn’t want to push what was clearly a sore point. She occupied herself with cutting dainty slices of the cheese for herself and Alistair. She passed him the slice with a cracker.

“Thanks,” he said, putting the whole thing in his mouth.

Maggie fidgeted with a quill.

Indistinctly he said “That was all a long time ago. We slew the Archdemon. Executed the traitor who got my half brother the King and the other Fereldan Grey Wardens killed. I became King. The others went their separate ways. Life goes on.”

“Wow, just like that huh.”

“Just like that.”

Edith woke up and stood up to rub her face under Alistair’s chin. He smiled and rubbed her ears.

“And aren’t you glad you are my beautiful Princess of Fereldan, yes you are.”

Edith chirped and puffed up her fur happily.

Alistair gently set the cat on the table and stood up, shaking himself a little. “Anyway, I need to have a meeting with Uncle Eamon or he’ll send a search party to find me again. I just stopped by to see how you liked the library.”

“Okay. I need to get started on working out the cataloguing system anyway.”

Edith huffed and lay down on Maggie’s pile of writing implements.

Alistair started walking backwards towards the door. “Oh and I’ll organise basic self-defence training for you when you are more settled too.”

Maggie wrinkled up her nose. “Mmm. Thanks.”

He grinned “Bye Maggie.”

“Bye Alistair.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you readers for the kudos and comments! I agonised for ages at the start about posting any of this fic at all, since it's my first, so I really love that some people are reading it and enjoying it <3
> 
> Thanks also to my sister [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for the editing love!

Two weeks after arriving in Denerim, Maggie found herself standing outside the training yard at the crack of dawn. Emmie had found a woollen coat for her and she wore it now, holding the front together and shivering in the early morning chill. Her body had decided that morning she would need to make use of those Fereldan sanitary products. So now on top of being cold and grumpy Maggie felt like she had a pillow between her legs and an overwhelming desire to eat chocolate and stab people. At least the stabbing part might get fulfilled. Emmie had given her a soothing cup of tea then produced a potion that eased the cramps and made her a little giddy on top of the grumpiness, so that was one positive.

Stamping her feet to warm them up, Maggie huffed a breath, watching it cloud in the cold air.

Alistair and another man, a black-haired dwarf, strode over to her.

“Goooood morning,” Alistair said brightly. He looked like an advertisement for a medieval themed men’s health magazine, with his loose white shirt and tight breeches. He had his jacket slung casually over one arm and his sword was in his belt.

Maggie bared her teeth, hoping Alistair would mistake that for a smile.

“Morning,” she grunted.

“Lady Maggie, this is my… how did we decide to categorise you again?” Alistair addressed the dwarf.

“Royal Problem Solver, your majesty,” the dwarf said, and gave Alistair a rakish grin.

“Ah yes. Lady Maggie this is Ser Rory Steelgrip, Royal Problem Solver.”

Rory shook Maggie’s hand firmly. “I’m the royal assassin, Lady Maggie. The King has tasked me with teaching you how to use a dagger without stabbing anyone you don’t mean to stab.”

Maggie had frozen at the word assassin, but she consciously relaxed her body since Alistair seemed more amused than alarmed.

“Pleased to meet you, Ser Rory.”

Alistair rubbed his hands together. “Right then. I’ll be off to my sparring. Good luck Lady Maggie.”

He gave Maggie a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She showed her teeth in a slightly more genuine smile at him.

She watched him stride away. His coppery hair shone in the gentle light of dawn and the faint breeze made it ripple becomingly. Flicking her eyes to Ser Rory, she noticed he was watching her instead of the King. Her eyes moved back to Alistair, seemingly of their own accord. His breeches had been rather tight. She deliberately did not drop her gaze below his broad shoulders.

Rory barked a laugh, and she looked back at him.

Maggie felt an unsettling combination of awkward and annoyed. “Are you staring at me, Ser Rory?”

Rory snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, girl. I’m not into anyone with… those,” he said as he gestured vaguely at Maggie.

Maggie looked down at herself. “Cardigans?” she guessed.

“Tits.”

“Ahh. Yeah okay, fair enough.”

“The King is a handsome fellow, for a human. More importantly a decent chap too.”

Maggie blushed involuntarily. “Mmmm,” she said, non-committal.

Rory grinned at her.

“All right, if you’ve finished ogling His Majesty, we can get down to business.”

Maggie made a strangled noise but didn’t comment. She shrugged off her woollen coat, hanging it on one of the fence posts.

_Hopefully the Fereldan Sanitary Pillow stays in place,_ she thought, _though I guess that’s one benefit of these tight leather pants they gave me. Fuck I wish I had chocolate right now. Or any treat. I wonder if Alistair would notice if I stole some of his cheese stash._

Rory handed her a wooden dagger, interrupting her reverie. It was about the length of her forearm, including the hilt.

She looked at it dubiously.

“Now try to stab me. I need to see your form,” he said, circling her.

Maggie jiggled uneasily. “What? Just stab you?”

“I said TRY to stab me. I didn’t say you’d succeed,” his voice came from behind her.

Maggie felt like an unwary swimmer being circled by a shark.

“Just, um, you mean, now? Just attack you right now?”

“Come on human, come at me with the dagger,” Rory growled.

Maggie tentatively jabbed the practice dagger towards his torso. He shimmied smoothly out of the way and she stumbled forward.

“Use your feet, lass. Move towards me as you try to stab. Put your weight behind it.”

Maggie jogged forward to where he was, brandishing the dagger. He stepped out of the way again and she caught herself on the fence.

“Aim at me, girl. The dwarf. You don’t need to attack the fucking fence.”

Maggie made another clumsy lunge, which Rory gracefully avoided.

_This is worse than bloody gym class in high school_ , she thought, recalling the series of sadistic gym teachers who delighted in tormenting the students less inclined towards athleticism.

She staggered towards Rory again, but tripped and accidently poked herself in the shoulder.

She hissed in pain. “Shit. Ow.”

“Come on, it’s just a bruise.”

She swung blindly, missing him by most of the width of the training area.

“Paragons preserve us you are fucking terrible. I figured the King was joking when he said you had no idea.”

Maggie was panting with the effort. “I’m a Librarian not a bloody street mugger.”

“You just need to be able to stab someone who is trying to kill you.”

“Yeah sounds easy and completely reasonable.” Maggie was starting to lose her temper.

“You’re a bit on the fat side, my girl, this might go easier for you if you undertake a fitness regime. I can organise some morning running sessions and a strict diet…”

Maggie screamed in rage and hurled herself at the dwarf. He still dodged easily, but this was the closest she’d come to touching him with her weapon.

“Better,” Rory said with a glint in his eye. “We’ll make a rogue out of you yet.”

Maggie was red faced and had her hands resting on her knees. “I. Am. A. Fucking. Librarian,” she puffed.

Edith the cat chose that moment to jump up on the fence and start watching Maggie intently.

“Oh good,” gasped Maggie, “an audience.”

“Come on girl, I’ll start by showing you how to grip and lunge.”

 

***

 

After an hour Maggie was flat on her back, staring at the sky and wheezing.

“Alright lass, that’ll do for today,” Rory sounded unsympathetic.

“How did she go, Ser Rory?” Alistair’s voice hit Maggie like warm caramel sauce on a large ice cream sundae.

“She’s shit, your majesty. But she’ll be able to improve enough with practice.”

Maggie groaned and rolled over, trying to haul herself to her feet. Cramps chose that moment to make themselves present again, reminding Maggie unpleasantly of the unfulfillable desire to be curled up in her own bed with a hot water bottle and an entire block of self-pity chocolate. She flopped back down on the ground.

She risked a glance at Alistair, who was glowing with sweat and good health from his own weapons practice. He looked charmingly ruffled. Maggie was certain she looked like an angry dishevelled cat.

Alistair was looking at her with something close to sympathy. Rory was smirking, and Edith still perched atop one of the fence posts, silently judging Maggie.

Alistair strode over and pulled her up, setting her on her feet.

“Thanks,” Maggie muttered grudgingly.

He shifted his feet awkwardly. “I have… I have something for you.”

He produced a box from inside his jacket where he usually kept his stash of Pocket Cheese. He patted it affectionately, then handed it to Maggie.

She opened the box. Inside was a beautiful dagger, with a delicate handle and a blue tinted blade.

“It’s lazurite,” Alistair explained, “I thought having your own weapon might help with motivation while you’re learning.”

Maggie carefully held it up and pointed to her practice dagger that was sitting on the ground at her feet. “You call that a knife? THIS is a knife?” she said, and grinned.

Alistair, Rory, and Edith all looked at her blankly.

Maggie cleared her throat. “It’s, ah, a traditional blessing of my people. Meant to show my appreciation for the gift.”

Alistair’s ears were red. “Well. Um. The blue of the dagger reminded me of the colour of your eyes. They are very beautiful. I mean, it is very beautiful. The dagger is very beautiful.”

Rory looked like he was trying to suppress his laughter with a choking noise.

Maggie was speechless.

“I found it in the Brecilian Forest during the Blight. It’s one of my favourite things.”

“Are you sure?” Maggie whispered. “It’s so lovely.”

Alistair smiled. “I want you to have it and I’m pleased you like it. I just thought… it was pretty. And useful. Yes.”

Rory buried his face in Edith’s fur in an attempt to compose himself. His shoulders were shaking with mirth. Edith started grooming his short hair.

Maggie stared at Alistair. “Thank you so much, it’s so thoughtful.”

There was a brief commotion as Roh appeared, her ‘bodyguard’ Eliza trailing along behind her.

“Maker’s sweaty ballsack, Maggie, are you learning to kill people? Ah, and hello your majesty. Ser Assassin.” Roh bowed to Alistair and Rory.

“Lady Maggie is learning some basic weapon skills, Lady Rohlessa,” said Alistair.

“By weapon skills he means falling on the ground,” muttered Maggie

“And swearing,” added Rory.

Maggie nodded. “And swearing.”

Edith jumped down off the fence post and draped herself over Alistair’s boot. He bent down and gathered her into his arms, cradling her like a baby.

Alistair smiled encouragingly at Maggie. “You’ll get there with practice.”

Maggie clutched the box with the dagger. “And motivation.”

 

***

 

That evening, after an afternoon curled up in bed with several of Emmie’s anti-cramp potions, Maggie felt better enough to head back to the library with her book from Earth under her arm.

Delia was sitting at one of the tables, deep in study with a large pile of books. Maggie smiled hello but didn’t disturb her.

Maggie opened the book to the page that contained the image of Denerim palace, as she always did. She flicked a few pages forward, to the most promising lead she had. There was an image of what looked like her book but a little different. She lost herself in reading the text.

“Bæclinga oðtêon wîc mid êower weorðian ætrihte thedas,” she whispered under her breath after several minutes. “Something about going back. Or back somewhere?”

There was a rustling noise in front of her, and Delia stood there with her head cocked to the side, looking at the book. Maggie felt strangely protective of it and she closed the cover, smiling at Delia to take the sting out of her actions.

“Do you need any help finding anything? I’ve been catching up with the cataloguing so it’s starting to get easier to locate items.”

“I was just curious about your book,” Delia said in her quiet voice. “May I take a look?”

Maggie paused.

_Is this okay? Is there any harm in letting someone just look at it? She’s supposed to be an expert on the Fade after all._

She handed Delia the book. “It came with me from my homeland across the Western Sea. It is the reason they exiled me.”

_I’m getting pretty good at telling that lie,_ she thought.

Delia flicked through the book, pausing at several pages. She drew together her delicate dark brows in consideration.

“Do you recognise the language?”

Maggie saw what looked like a flash of anger cross Delia’s face, but it disappeared in an instant.

“It looks like an ancient form of the common tongue, of all things,” Delia said. “This is a rare and precious item, I can see why tempers ran so high over it’s possession in your homeland.”

She handed the book back to Maggie, who refrained from snatching it out of her hands.

She regarded Maggie impassively. “I need to take my leave Lady Maggie, I shall see you at a later date.”

“It was nice seeing you Delia, goodbye,” Maggie waved as Delia gathered up her belongings and rapidly left the library.

_Huh. That was weird._

Something dragged Maggie’s gaze back to the book. She opened it back to the same page from before Delia’s interruption.

“Come on book. It’s been two weeks. Help a girl out here.”

The book sat unresponsive on the table, resolute and defiant.

“Hmm. Nîedðearf mîn sweostorsunu bôc. Is that sister? Maybe ‘sister book’? That could be a potential lead. Or the start of a delightful literary family tree. Ugh. My kingdom for a middle English dictionary.”

She shut the book again and leaned back in her chair.

_Am I so desperate to go home?_ she thought.

An image of Alistair’s smiling face came unbidden to her mind.

_Fuck_. _How would you date a King? Is that even allowed? Why is such a lovely man not already married to the nicest, kindest, most wonderful person in Fereldan? Should I even ask him that?_

Maggie leaned forward until her head hit the desk.

There was a noise at the door and Alistair walked into the room backwards clutching a basket, one of his guards holding the door open for him. Edith trotted into the room at his heels. He nodded thanks to the guard, who saluted and moved to the usual post in the hallway outside the library. Maggie sat up quickly and tried to look nonchalant.

Edith strolled over to the fireplace and flopped down in front of it.

“Join me for a snack?” Alistair said, smiling at Maggie, “I hardly ate anything at proper dinner. Bann Aetumal was hurling his daughters and niece at me again, in the hopes that one would take. Being polite and fending them off took all my focus.”

Maggie pushed her book to the side and leaned forward on the table, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. “Oh I’ve heard about that. Roh mentioned they wanted to get her in on it too.”

“I’m pleased she at least can resist my kingly charms.”

Maggie gestured at him. “Nah, you just lack, ah, certain parts she’s in to.”

Alistair looked down at himself in alarm. “I see…”

Maggie snorted. “Anyway, perhaps you should take another approach and eat so much your lack of manners appals them and they leave you alone?”

Alistair was lovingly unwrapping a wheel of Val Royeux brie. “Now that is a much better plan than my usual approach of obliviousness. Maybe that’ll stop them trying to sneak an invite to my quarters afterwards too.”

Maggie cut a large wedge of the brie and passed it to him. “Do they usually try to seduce you? All three of them?”

Alistair took a bite of the brie and narrowed his eyes with enjoyment. “My virtue is in serious danger from these nobles! Why do you think I spend so much time hiding here in the library?”

“Well your virtue is safe here with me,” Maggie said, and patted his hand. “All three women though? Are they expecting you to have them all at once?”

Alistair choked with laughter and turned scarlet. “Where would you get such an idea! Maker’s breath.”

Maggie grinned unrepentantly. “Hey I said your virtue was safe with me, I’m not the one coming up with these dastardly plots.”

Alistair was still wheezing and laughing, “You’re making me sound like Royal Librarian Hubert.”

“I’ve never met royalty before, remember?” Maggie passed Alistair a slice of Happy Druffalo cheese to calm him down, “for all I know orgies really are an everyday occurrence.”

Alistair made an inarticulate noise.

She pointed with the cheese knife. “The wooing desk is still there if you really do want to emulate the former librarian!”

Alistair banged his head down on the table, “I give up. Your wicked plan to assassinate me with embarrassment has succeeded.”

“Alright, I’ll have mercy on your delicate sensibilities. No more implying your kingly person would possibly be tempted by three beautiful noblewomen. You might want to strengthen the guards on your quarters though.”

Edith jumped up on the table, making happy prrrrping noises. Alistair scooped her up and buried his red face in her fur.

“You’re a terrible person,” Alistair wheezed.

“I know,” Maggie grinned, and nabbed some Happy Druffalo for herself.

Alistair sat up and wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes. “Oh, this arrived for you from Skyhold,” he said, reaching into his pocket and handing Maggie a scroll. “You distracted me with your scandalous ideas.”

Maggie looked at it. It was small, tightly rolled and sealed with a blob of red wax. She slid her finger under the blob and it cracked.

 

_Lady Maggie,_ she read,

_King Alistair has informed me of your plight. Please rest assured I am using all my contacts in order to assist. I have a promising lead in Kirkwall and I shall inform you of the results forthwith._

_Dorian Pavus_

 

“I’ll have to write back to him,” Maggie said, giving the scroll to Alistair to read, “I think there might be a mention of a ‘sister book’ that we need to pursue.” 

Alistair scanned the scroll. “I’ve been in contact with Inquisitor Cadash and they will be coming to close the nearby fade rift as soon as possible. I’d hate for anyone to have to rescue any more damsels in distress from it.”

Maggie made a rude noise.

Alistair flashed her a quick smile. “Dorian is a charming chap. He was most complementary about my hair. I had dinner with him, Inquisitor Della Cadash, and some of her senior Inquisition members when I was in Redcliffe last year. Once I finished shouting at them about the free mages.”

Maggie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I can’t imagine you shouting at people.”

“Hmm. Well it was less shouting and more my King Voice. Very stern you know. I let the free Mages stay in Fereldan and what do they do? Indenture themselves to an evil Tevinter Magister,” he shook his head.

“I’ve been reading about the situation with the Mages and the Templars. It sounds… well it sounds really fucked up.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” Alistair said, and sighed. “Della Cadash took the mages off my hands, but it was a close thing, by all accounts.”

He sat back and looked at the roof, momentarily lost in thought.

Maggie watched him. He’d relaxed his face and it was expressive in the way that it was when they were alone.

Alistair shook his head and leaned forward again. “Anyway, this must be very boring for you. Try some of this Nevarran Rauchkäse, they have special cheese smoking areas of their crypts which gives it an interesting flavour.”

Maggie patted Edith, who was lying bonelessly on the table beside the cheese. “You aren’t boring me, I really like hearing about your life. I’ll try some of the Rauchkäse though.”

He passed her a slice. “This is nice. Just talking. Eating cheese.”

Maggie laughed. “Not a nagging royal advisor or lusty noble in sight. Must make a change.”

“Indeed. What do you think of the smoked flavour?”

Maggie waved her half-eaten slice of cheese for emphasis. “Well I’m not getting any crypt vibes, so that’s a relief. It’s lovely, with an earthen note.”

Alistair suddenly smacked his forehead and reached down into the basket. “I also got distracted from the wine. Don’t tell anyone, but it’s a Riesling from southern Orlais. It’ll pair well with the Rauchkäse. I should really be drinking a robust Fereldan ale, since I’m the red-blooded Fereldan King and all, but I want to actually taste the cheese afterwards.”

He passed Maggie a goblet and poured her a generous measure of the wine.

She smiled in thanks. “Your terrible secret is safe with me,” Maggie said, swirling the pale golden liquid around in the goblet. “I’ve been reading Brother Genitivi’s History of the Fifth Blight. It’s odd reading about you.”

Alistair looked cautious. “How so?”

Maggie shook her head. “Well reading about you in a book as opposed to knowing you as a person. You’ve done so many amazing things in your life. It’s just so different to my world. You have fucking dragons here. Fucking. Dragons. That’s insane.”

Alistair shrugged. “Things happened to me more than I happened to them. I only became a Grey Warden because I was nice to the other trainee templars in a tournament. Apparently Duncan considered Not Being A Jerk to be the main prerequisite for being a Warden.”

Maggie laughed. “Yes, you do seem to succeed at Not Being A Jerk.”

He smiled back at her. “Thanks. And the dragons. Welllll they attacked us. If a dragon attacks you fight back. And I got a handsome set of puncture wound scars from the Archdemon for my trouble.”

“You’d better not tell any of the eligible nobles that, you’d never pry them off you.”

Alistair winced. “True.”

“And the King thing. Where I’m really from, Sydney, that’s a city in a country called Australia. It’s part of a group of countries called a Commonwealth and all those countries have the same Queen, though she’s more of a figurehead than an actual ruler. Anyway, the Commonwealth has a billion people and one Queen. A thousand million people. One Queen. And here we are, eating cheese in a library and you’re a King. It’s just… very different than what I’m used to.”

Alistair took a swig of his wine. “The book mentions I’m a bastard. King Maric was my father but as far as I know my mother was a servant who died when I was born. My Uncle and his wife left me to spend my days with dogs as a child. Then they sent me off to the chantry to alternate between punishment and solitude. Being a Grey Warden was the only thing I ever wanted to do but they needed a King. I never wanted…”

He sighed.

“Anyway it’s all ancient history now,” he said, “I need to turn in, but next time I want to hear more about your world. I’m sure it’s much more interesting.”

“Well a large mythical creature has never bitten me, but I have flown above the clouds, so I’ll tell you all about that….”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my sister [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) who earned 100 points for Hufflepuff with her excellent editing skills. I only earned 20 points for Ravenclaw for working out where I was missing Oxford commas when she pointed it out to me!

Roh clutched Maggie’s arm dramatically. “So he gave you that dagger?”

Maggie dodged a street vendor. People were crowded into Denerim marketplace, even by Sydney standards. “Yes,” she said, trying not to gawk at all the different people and sights.

“A dagger that was a trophy from the Blight?” Roh said speculatively.

Maggie stopped to view some colourful fabrics. “Yeah, he said it was.”

Roh looked at Maggie. “Maker’s Cock, that’s quite a gift. Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“I’ve only had a few days of training. Rory says that I’m, and I quote, not fit to avoid stabbing myself with it yet. Anyway, the dagger is so beautiful, I don’t want to damage it or lose it.”

Maggie shut her eyes briefly and remembered Alistair’s cautious smile as he handed her the box with the dagger.

_No one has ever gifted me a deadly weapon before,_ Maggie thought, and stifled a grin.

“Hmm. Have you told everyone about it?”

Maggie shook herself and began examining a deep blue brocade. “Well, no. I don’t think it’s a secret but then I don’t know many people yet.”

Roh tugged Maggie away from the stall. “Andraste’s rosy nipples, Maggie, my sisters and cousin will want to kill you.”

Maggie stopped. “Wait a second. This is not a relationship thing. We’re friends. It’s a friend thing.”

Roh tilted her head to the side. “I know you are from Spicellennium Maggie, but here in Fereldan ‘just friends’ don’t generally give such personal gifts.”

Roh nudged Eliza, who was heavily armed and stalking silently beside them. “Hey ‘Liza, have you ever heard of the King giving his stuff away like that before?”

Eliza’s eyes never stopped scanning the crowd for threats. “Nope,” she said briskly.

Maggie frowned. “Alistair is a very thoughtful man. I think he feels bad I’m stuck here, unable to go home.”

Roh’s eyes went wide. “You called him by his name.”

“Yes?”

Roh clutched Maggie’s arm in excitement. “No one calls him by his fucking name. Not even his uncle. By Maferath you’ve managed more in three weeks than the other noblewomen have in years. Have you fucked him yet?”

Maggie scowled. “What! No, of course not.”

Roh gave a lascivious smirk. “Because I’m pretty sure I know what goes on in that library.”

Maggie raised her hands in surrender. “We just talk. And eat cheese. That is literally it.”

“Uh huh.”

Maggie spied an interesting stall. “Oh look, it says ‘Runecrafting for Domestic Harmony.’ I’ve read about runestones.”

She examined the contents of the table. Most of the smooth stones would fit in the palm of her hand, and they had what looked like various shapes and symbols engraved on top of them. She heard a tiny buzzing just on the edge of her hearing, like her book had done before it yanked her away from Earth.

Maggie gasped in wonder. “Oh look at this one. It’s got a little carving that looks like a cat on it. That’s amazing, it’s glowing!”

Roh peered over her shoulder and snorted a laugh. “Oh. Ahh, I take it you don’t have runestones across the western sea?”

“No, nothing like this. It looks like Edith!”

Roh exchanged an amused glance with Eliza. “It certainly makes a statement. And might prove an interesting conversation piece. You should buy it for your Just A Friend, the King.

Maggie’s shoulders slumped. “Shit. I don’t have any actual money.”

“Wait, you’ve been working in the palace library for three weeks and they haven’t paid you?” Roh said, surprised.

“They have given me food, accommodation, and clothes. I guess I didn’t really think about it.”

Roh shook her head. “Andraste’s shapely buttocks, Maggie, you aren’t a slave. I’ll pay, and you can pay me back once you work out how to get gold out of the fearsome Mistress Torwin.”

 

***

 

That evening, Alistair came bursting into the library, waving a small oil-cloth wrapped package in the air. “The special shipment of Snoufleur cheddar arrived, would you like to try some?”

Maggie marked her place in her book. She raised an eyebrow. “Is Snoufleur a place or an animal?”

Alistair paused. “I’m almost completely certain it’s an animal. Possibly a snouty animal? Also tusks.”

“Hmm. Alright, let’s have a try of your mysterious cheese,” she said, leaning forward.

Alistair placed the bundle on the table and started to unwrap it with a profound reverence.

Maggie grinned at him. “Would you like me to say a few words to the gods of cheese?”

Alistair laughed. “I was never very devout, but somehow that does seem slightly blasphemous.”

“That depends on how much you like cheese.”

He finished opening the oil-cloth and revealed a sturdy layer of thick brown paper.

Maggie giggled. “This is just like pass the parcel. But with cheese!”

Alistair carefully started unwrapping the paper layer. “What is pass the parcel?”

“Oh it’s a children’s party game from my world,” Maggie said, feeling an unexpected wave of homesickness. She remembered her childhood birthdays sitting in a circle with her school friends, all giggling as they had turns unwrapping the colourful paper. Jon would get in the way and try to hold onto the parcel when it came around. Mum would bake a birthday cake and cover it with lollies. She’d make sure Dad was drinking at the local pub instead of at home, so he didn’t shout at the noise of the children.

Alistair looked fondly at the now revealed block of cheese. “There’s my beauty.”

“Is cheese supposed to be that colour?” Maggie muttered, squinting at the lurid yellow lump.

“Honestly I have no idea. Let’s try it,” he said, cutting two small slivers and passing one to Maggie, keeping the other for himself.

“I’m getting hints of oak, dandelions, and the tears of small children,” Maggie said indistinctly, chewing on the cheese contemplatively.

Alistair frowned at his slice of the cheese. “Really?”

“Nah, tastes like cheddar. Maybe a little nutty. It’s pretty good.”

Alistair laughed and shook his head, taking a bite. “You’re a wicked woman. It is nice though.”

“Oh here, I got this for you today. It reminded me of you.” Maggie handed him the small package from her pocket.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said, unwrapping the gift, “but… oh Maker’s breath.”

Maggie leaned towards him excitedly. “See, if you squint, the rune looks like a cat? A fluffy cat, like Edith.”

Alistair was unable to speak, his face bright red.

Maggie was getting worried. “And look, it glows?”

Alistair cleared his throat. “Did the vendor explain what the rune was for?”

Maggie’s face fell. “Ah, no. I thought it was decorative. Roh seemed to like it too.”

His lips twitched. “Did she just.”

“Oh gods, what does the thing do?” Maggie eyed the runestone warily.

“It’s supposed to increase virility. Especially when things are, um, flagging in one’s… manly parts.”

There was a brief but loaded pause.

Maggie blinked. “I mean I’m sure you don’t have erectile dysfunction.”

Alistair made a strangled noise.

“Oh, but if you did, that would be okay too. No judgement.” Maggie’s brain was starting to catch up with her mouth. “Fuck. Fuck, I need to stop talking.”

He put his head in his hands and laughed helplessly. Maggie started to giggle with him.

Eventually he stopped and wiped his eyes. “The runestone is wonderful. Truly. I’ll put it with my collection and enjoy it with the spirit you intended.”

Maggie snorted. “Plus, whoever cleans your room will have a new source of gossip.”

“Wild speculation amongst the servants about my lack of virility? Interesting idea.”

Maggie sliced another chunk of the Snoufleur cheddar and handed it to him. “Here, you need some cheese to recover from me accidently questioning your masculinity.”

“Good idea.”

Alistair poured them both wine.

“Sooooo. Tell me more about your world.” Alistair said, sitting back and making himself more comfortable in his chair, balancing the runestone on his fingers.

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Well we’ve established we don’t have runestones. Are you sure you won’t accidently activate that one by playing with it?”

Alistair smirked. “My hands aren’t in any danger of causing activation, no.”

“Ah. Yes, well,” Maggie coughed delicately. “That’s a big question about my world though.”

“Well is it very different? You seem to manage okay here, you haven’t caused any major scandals by unknowingly showing up naked to meals or attempting to eat our mabari.”

Maggie laughed, “Well I suppose in some ways it’s very similar. We wear clothes, eat meals, try to be reasonably nice to other people, and don’t go around consuming the dogs of our hosts.”

She looked up at the ornate ceiling of the library, trying to gather her thoughts.

“Magic doesn’t exist, so the focus is on technology for things like medicine or communication. For example, there is a little box in my apartment, called a telephone, that when I enter a number, it communicates with the box at someone else’s house and I can talk to them.”

“Sounds like a sending stone.”

“But it’s technology, not magic. Anyone can make one if they learn how to. There is no innate skill.”

“Hmm. You promised a few days ago you’d tell me how you flew.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. Well it’s a bit like a huge carriage or covered over wagon, but there are no horses. Instead the aeroplane has wings, and it uses engines to launch itself into the air.”

Alistair looked sceptical. “You said you had no magic. That sounds magical.”

“No, it’s technology like everything else. The plane uses propellers to push forward then it kind of,” Maggie made a vague waving motion with her hands, “pushes itself up into the air. And once it’s up in the air, it stays in the air until the pilots, the drivers, make a landing. We can go all over the world in them.”

Alistair looked alarmed. “That sounds terrible. Like it could fall out of the sky.”

“No no, flight is one of the safest forms of travel.”

Alistair looked unconvinced.

Maggie took a sip of her wine. “Oh and there are so many little luxuries compared to here. We have showers. I really miss showers.

“We have rain here? It’s just been dry lately.”

“No, showers to bathe in.” Maggie said, considering an explanation. “I have my own private bathing chamber, and the water comes from a spout, like a waterfall, and you stand under it to wash.”

“Oh I’ve bathed in a waterfall before, when we were travelling during the Blight. Zevran and I bet I had to go in without my smallclothes if he got more kills than me that day. I never heard the end of it.”

“What is it with everyone here and public bathing? I’m still recovering from my experience. I’ve been sponge bathing in my room ever since. I miss being properly clean.”

Alistair looked concerned. “Nobody harassed you, did they?”

“No nothing like that, just my own paralysing embarrassment about getting flagrantly naked in a crowded room. I’ll have to get over it eventually I suppose.”

“You could borrow my bathing room if you like. I’ll be busy most of tomorrow morning, I can make sure you have undisturbed access.”

“An actual all-on-my-own bath? Oh wow, yes. So much yes,” Maggie said. “But. But won’t people talk? Or are you sneaking me in there?”

Alistair looked at the runestone and then looked at Maggie and smiled. “And if they do talk? I would never sneak you anywhere.”

Maggie frowned. “I don’t care what people think of me, but I don’t want to risk anyone thinking less of you or gossiping about you.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been ruling and upsetting everyone by refusing to marry for 10 years. They already gossip about me.”

_Ask him why he’s never married. Ask him why he’s never married! ASK HIM WHY HE’S NEVER MARRIED._ Maggie thought.

“More cheese?” she said.

_Coward_.

 

***

 

The following morning, Alistair saluted the guards outside his royal suite with his fist to his chest. Maggie waved awkwardly to them.

 He held the door open for her and she went in.

She took a few steps in and clutched Alistair’s arm.

“I’m sensing the disturbance in the Force,” she announced dramatically.

“You’re sensing a disturbance in the what?” Alistair said in alarm.

Maggie looked up at him and grinned. “I can feel the anguished cries of a hundred unmarried noblewomen as I penetrate your private apartments.”

Alistair groaned. “That is terrible. You are terrible!”

“I’m going where every woman has wanted to go before!” Maggie stopped and looked around, “it’s actually very plain though.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow at her. “What were you expecting?”

“Something more, I dunno, Kingly? Maybe a small pet dragon, or for your bed to be encrusted with precious jewels. I mean it’s a big room, but so… ordinary. I’m kind of expecting to see your silken royal smallclothes tossed in the corner and the remains of a midnight feast beside the bed.”

“They are not silk! They are just… a very fine linen. I have a delicate bottom.”

Maggie laughed. “Nothing but the best for the royal arse.”

“And I eat my midnight feasts down in the kitchen. Cook always leaves a plate of delicious snackables out for me.”

Edith was sitting on the end of Alistair’s bed, observing Maggie through narrowed eyes. Maggie sat on the edge of the bed and scratched Edith’s ears. “Hello beautiful girl,” she crooned, then leaned forward to peer over the side. “What the actual fuck, this is a plain wooden bed, Alistair.”

He sat on the other side of Edith and stroked her fur. She rolled over and showed him her belly in response. “Soooo what did you think I slept on? A large griffon cast in Stormheart metal, holding a mattress of the finest nug fur? Sheets of decadent Orlesian silk?”

“Quite possibly, yes. And I am profoundly disappointed that this is only a normal bed.” Maggie said, in mock outrage.

He stood up walked over to the corner of the room where there were three armour stands. “Here, this will make you happy.”

Maggie joined him. There were three sets of plate armour on the stands. One she recognised as the utilitarian set he’d been wearing the day they’d met. Another was silver and blue and beautiful, and the last was a highly polished white-toned silver.

He pointed to the silver and blue set. “This is my Grey Warden armour,” he said fondly. “See that’s a griffon on the front.”

Maggie touched it reverently. “It’s extraordinary. I’d never seen anything like it up close until I came here, only in museums.”

Alistair poked the pale silver set. “And this is my Silverite plate, it’s supposed to be ceremonial and Kingly. It’s extremely heavy. And also gives me a rash. But it looks very impressive.”

“There are amazing. I’d love to see you wearing them.”

He chuckled. “Well next time I have to wear the Silverite you can enjoy watching me being Kingly, while knowing afterwards I’ll need to take a trip to the healers for their special elfroot salve.”

Maggie snickered. She looked around the room again and spied a small bookshelf with runestones placed on top. “Oh look at your lovely runestones. And the one I gave you. With the, um, cat.”

“It has pride of place! I’ve been getting some speculative looks from the palace servants.”

Maggie knelt down to examine the books, awkwardly tucking the skirts of her dress to the side. “These are your personal books? _Mutiny in Rivain_ ,” she read aloud, “ _March of the Anderfel Barbarians, Tales of Ser Artem and his loyal mabari._ ”

Alistair looked embarrassed. “I like adventure books,” he said defensively, “I find them relaxing.”

“Hey, no judgement here,” Maggie said lightly, “people should read what makes them happy. I personally like ridiculous romance novels, the cornier the better.”

She scrambled to her feet, holding her skirts out of the way. Alistair politely averted his eyes and pointed to a doorway across from them.

“And here’s my private bathing room.”

Maggie squealed in delight and dashed into the small room. “The delicious gift of privacy! Oh you don’t know how wonderful this is. It feels like half of Denerim has seen me naked in the palace bathing rooms. This is amazing.”

Alistair flushed red and cleared his throat. “The maids will be up shortly to fill the tub for you. I’ve got a meeting with my advisors and afterwards an official lunch with some visiting Free Marcher lords so you can take as much time here as you wish.”

Maggie was lovingly stroking the massive tub. “Thank you so much. I can’t wait to be properly clean.”

 

***

 

Maggie floated in the tub, resting her head on one end and sighing contentedly. She stretched her legs out, sighing in bliss as the warm water caressed her skin. Her hair floated around her, finally properly clean after being washed in a bucket since the public bathing experience. The soap had given a light floral smell to the water and she breathed deeply.

There was plenty of room in the tub for two, and she imagined the handsome king in there with her. She flushed at the thought of sliding over him, water sloshing over the edge of the tub as they took their pleasure with each other’s bodies.

_Fuck it, stop. You aren’t here for that_.

She squeezed her eyes shut and banished the image.

How did she feel about him? She liked him tremendously, that was certain. He was sweet and funny, kind and obviously lonely for company who regarded him more of a man and less of a King. Did she want to try and be intimate with him? Her body was giving her a resounding yes, but her heart was less sure. She didn’t want to break his heart, as she also wanted to protect her own. She was trying to get back to her own world, she couldn’t do that and then leave him here all alone again.

_Anyway, I don’t know for sure if he feels the same way. But what if he does? We might never figure out the way back to Earth._

Did she really even want to go back to her own world? The concept floated up unbidden. What was there back in Sydney? Her friends, certainly, and her job, the material safety of a modern technological society. But she was making friends here too, and Alistair was rapidly becoming an important person in her personal world.

Anxiety speared her chest. There were too many unknowns. Too much uncertainty.

_Study the problem so at least I have all possible choices, then decide._

The thought soothed her. All she could do was deal with what was in front of her. Getting several steps ahead was never good for anyone’s sanity.

She tried to quiet her racing thoughts. Concentrating on the here and now, Maggie counted her breaths, floating weightless in the tub.

It was so intimate, being in his personal space. The things he used for bathing and grooming were on the shelves in here. His runestone collection and adventure books were through the doorway. His clothing was through there, the bed he slept in. She was pretty sure Edith was still on the bed, staring in her direction.

Maggie groaned and sank down in the tub again.

_Time to get out of here and go back to a place that’s less overwhelmingly… him._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of dubious consent and infertility.
> 
>    
> Thanks to my siblings [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) and [Lokaal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokaal/pseuds/Lokaal) for their help with this chapter.

 

Maggie leaned forward and put her elbows on the library table. “Do the noblewomen ever just throw their smalls at you when you’re on your throne? Scream hysterically and then swoon at your feet?”

Alistair looked both intrigued and dismayed. “Is that common where you are from?”

“Only throwing your underwear at men you fancy.”

Alistair blinked. “I’m not sure if you are joking or not.”

Maggie smiled enigmatically.

Giving her a side-eye, Alistair poked a crumbly white cheese with the cheese knife. “Well. What do you think of the Ostwick goat’s milk feta?”

“What I think is that you have the most complex web of cheese suppliers in all of Thedas. Also it was delicious. Pleasingly tart.”

He cut a tiny cube and held it below his seat, where Edith crouched. “Here you are, my beloved orange princess.”

Edith delicately nipped the feta from his fingers and ate it happily.

Maggie leaned sideways and watched him. “Is feta good for cats?”

Alistair tickled Edith’s head. “Of course, she’s my cat. Princess Edith of Fereldan, aren’t you my gorgeous fluffy girl.”

Edith glared at Maggie, then switched her loving gaze to Alistair’s hand.

“Of course she is,” Maggie said.

He scratched Edith’s chin. “And naturally I’ve cultivated the best cheese connections in the known world. There have to be some benefits to being King.”

Maggie gestured with a cube of feta. “You mean other than absolute power over the lives of the people of an entire nation? And that particularly delightful private bathing suite?”

He grinned at her. “Other than those things, yes.”

Maggie sat back in her chair. “I’ve told you about how a Queen is our head of state, but for everyone else in charge of running my country there is a vote. Every adult gets to congregate every three years and choose who we want to have govern us.”

Alistair claimed his hand back from Edith, who chirped in disagreement. He frowned at Maggie in consternation. “Maker’s breath. Every adult gets a vote? What if they make the wrong choice?”

“Well that’s the risk we take for that freedom, yes. Usually it works out okay. Sometimes not so much.”

Alistair shook his head in horror.

“Oh, speaking of my world, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Maggie said, standing up and fetching a book she’d left on her unused desk.

She opened the book to a beautifully rendered map.

“I found this map of Thedas. I had some questions about it.”

Alistair looked at the map and shook his head. “My Chantry education was mostly me trying to avoid lessons so I could go out and practice with my sword.”

Maggie snorted.

“My actual sword! I can see what you are thinking, stop that. Anyway. The only things I really learned were how to fight and that I’d get struck by lightening if I tried to woo anyone. Geography wasn’t exactly a focus.”

“You spend all of your free time eating cheese and reading books in your very own lavishly appointed palace library and you never encountered an atlas?”

“I’ve read atlases,” he said defensively, “That’s how I knew about the Western sea. It was the remotest area I could think of.”

“So, I’m supposed to be from Spicellennium, across the Western sea.” Maggie said, poking the map with her finger, “But Denerim is on the eastern coast. How on earth, or rather, how on Thedas was I supposed to get all the way here?”

He squinted at the map. “I never said it was a good cover story. Anything is better than people knowing you came through the Fade from another world. But look,” he said, jabbing the map, “Okay. Maybe you landed at Laysh in the Anderfels. Made your way to Weisshaupt, the base of the Grey Wardens, having lots of scary adventures along the way. You fell in with a company of bandits, who stole everything but the clothes on your back and your precious book. But you prevailed due to your eternal courage and rock throwing skills.”

Maggie grinned at him. “Alright, seems totally reasonable.”

“And when you made it to Weisshaupt, covered in blood and glory, they told you about the famed and extremely handsome and charming Grey Warden King in Fereldan who would undoubtedly give you refuge. So, you rode on the back of a giant nuggalope to,” he paused and examined the map, “to Tallo, where you gained passage on a merchant ship heading to Denerim. But!”

Maggie leaned her chin on her hand. “But?”

“But pirates chased the ship and you only managed to prevail due to your wits and intimate knowledge of wind and sea currents gained in the majestic coastal city of Spicellennium. And then you eventually sailed through,” he looked at the map again, “The Colean Sea, Nocen Sea, ohh there’s Seheron, I’ve heard of that. Um, the Venefication Sea, and wow look you went very close to Par Vollen. You were lucky to make it through there. And then Rivain. Ohh I met a Rivaini pirate once. She was… well. She certainly was.”

He blushed, and cleared his throat. “Aaaand so you sailed bravely through the Amaranthine ocean, but when you were almost to Denerim you encountered a giant sea monster. The massive pulsating tentacles smashed the sea close to your ship,” he made a chopping gesture with his hand, “and the resulting wave washed you and your book overboard. You swam bravely, astoundingly keeping your book above water, until you were washed ashore in the most amazing country you’d ever seen.”

Maggie laughed. “And then?”

“And then you were beset by a terrifying demon! You fought bravely, as you always do, but your many adventures had exhausted you and there was that terrible leg injury from your tussle with the sea monster. But! All of a sudden, there was the most majestic sight you’ve ever seen when a King in shining armour leapt out of the forest and slew the mighty demon in an epic and terrifying battle. And the rest you know.”

Maggie gazed innocently at him. “I see. And did the King get a rash from his armour?”

He pointed at her, lips twitching from trying not to smile. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you spoil it. That was an excellent cover story. Nobody gets rashes in stories. Anyway,” he relented and grinned at her, “that armour is perfectly comfortable. It’s only the fancy Silverite set that gets me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if anyone asks me for specific details.”

He leaned towards her and opened his mouth, but he lost what he was about to say when a guard came running in the room brandishing a scroll.

The guard saluted. “Your majesty, we had a messenger at the gate. They told us to pass along the message ‘Lothering rose’ and that you’d know who it was from.”

Alistair went pale, and stood up, good mood falling away as he hurried over to the guard. “Thank you,” he said shortly, “you are dismissed.”

He stalked over to the window. It was mid evening and through it Maggie saw distant lamplight and one of Thedas’s moons.

_Satina, the larger one_ , she thought.

“This will be from Natia Brosca,” he said absently to Maggie, unrolling the message.

“I’ve read about her. The Hero of Fereldan. The Warden Commander,” Maggie said, watching the distress in his face as he read the message.

He finished reading and turned to gaze out of the window, rolling the message back up and tapping it restlessly on his thigh.

Maggie licked her lips nervously, unsure how to help him. He stared out of the window, lost in thought. His back was tense and hunched.

After several minutes Maggie tentatively made her way over to him, perching on the edge of one of the plush couches so she’d be in the corner of his vision but not imposing.

“I don’t want to pry, Alistair,” she said quietly, “but you don’t look like someone happy to hear from an old friend.”

Alistair grimaced, fiddling with the scroll. “I should tell you,” he said tersely, “Natia and I were together during the Blight. Romantically.”

Maggie paused to consider her answer. “And I’m assuming it didn’t end well.”

He barked a laugh. “You could say that.”

“I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it, King of a country to Queen of a library,” Maggie smiled gently.

Alistair didn’t smile back. He began pacing in front of the bookcases on the side wall. “Natia and I were true equals. She was a casteless dwarf, and I was an unwanted bastard who used to live in a stable.”

Maggie slid down to sit cross legged on the couch. She adjusted her dark green dress over her legs. “What happened?”

“She’d been… close to our friend Zevran. I was jealous and asked her to be with me. I told her nothing would ever come between us. That nothing meant more to me than her.”

Maggie nodded. “Okay.”

His hands twitched restlessly as he paced. “She made sure I would become King. She and Eamon got enough support for me during the Landsmeet and then, all of a sudden, I was King of a whole country. Natia was the only person who’d ever loved and wanted me for who I was, not who my father was, and she made me King.”

Maggie leaned against the arm of the couch. “That’s a big thing to do for someone.”

“To do TO someone.” Alistair corrected, stopping to face her. “I didn’t want to be King, I wanted to remain a Warden and stay with Natia.”

“The freedom?”

He resumed the pacing. “Well more freedom than being a King. But once I was King, I knew I had to put Fereldan first. A King needs the support of his nobles. The King needs an heir,” Alistair said, grimacing. “Grey Wardens are almost totally infertile. There was an infinitesimal chance of me fathering a child with a non-Grey Warden, but none at all for Natia and I.”

Maggie swallowed. She didn’t want to cheapen what he was confessing by saying the wrong thing. She looked down at her hands. “Fuck, that’s so sad.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Alistair said hollowly. “I’m so used to it now, I don’t think about it.”

Maggie’s heart ached for him.

He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I broke off our relationship when I became King.”

Maggie shook her head. “Oh Alistair. I’m so sorry.”

His ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “I discarded her like she was worth nothing. She was the world to me, but I threw her away for a kingdom. What I thought the kingdom needed. We were truly equals, and that meant nothing to me.”

He walked over and slumped on the couch beside her, placing the scroll between them. Maggie took his hand, stroking her thumb over his palm.

“I believed marrying a casteless dwarf would be disastrous politically. Maybe I was right initially, but after we killed the Archdemon, she was the Hero of Fereldan. Of course the nobles would have accepted her as Queen.”

“Everyone makes shitty, stupid mistakes sometime in their lives. You were so young.”

“Old enough to rule a country,” he muttered, and then sighed heavily. “I regretted breaking both our hearts right away. But it was too late. She could barely look at me when I went back to our camp to prepare to fight the Archdemon.”

She turned around to face him properly, still holding his hand. “Emotions must have been running incredibly high. Nothing could have prepared you to deal with that whole situation. I can see why you’d make decisions you regret.”

His face twisted in pain.

“Natia convinced me to… to… have sex with one of the mages in our party that night. Morrigan knew a magical way to save me and Natia from dying to the Archdemon, but I needed to make her pregnant to do so.”

Maggie gasped. “Oh fuck.”

Alistair looked down at their joined hands. “I didn’t want to. The thought of doing that was disgusting. I wanted to make the killing blow on the Archdemon and die, and save Natia because I didn’t deserve to live and she did.”

“Oh.”

“But there was a chance she would steal the killing blow from me and sacrifice herself. She was a very sneaky rogue after all.” He smiled sadly. It didn’t reach his eyes.

He slumped and stared at the floor between his feet. “So, I agreed to spend the night with Morrigan. It wasn’t so bad. She made sure my body did what it needed to do, and she had a way to guarantee she got a baby from it.”

“You’re a father?” Maggie whispered.

“Yes. His name is Kieran, he lives at Skyhold with his mother. I had to promise I wouldn’t contact them.”

She squeezed his hand harder. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. It is so awful for you.”

He grimaced at the floor. “After my coronation, Natia left to become Warden Commander. Then there was just me with a parade of impeccable young noblewomen vying to be Queen. But after Natia, I just couldn’t. We were equals. We had proper conversations without me as a Theirin getting in the way of me as a person. How could I face anything less?”

Maggie ran her thumb over the insides of his fingers. They were long, and had callouses which must have been from his sparring with a sword every morning. She looked up and watched his face.

He was still looking at the floor, high spots of colour in his cheeks. “Eamon keeps trying to push those noblewomen at me. All I had to do was marry one, do my duty just the same as I did with Morrigan and hope the vanishingly small chance of me fathering a child would happen.”

“That’s really shit.”

He laughed bitterly. “I couldn’t do that to some idealistic young woman who didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t do that to myself, not after breaking Natia’s heart and my own like that.”

“This was ten years ago, yeah? You haven’t met anyone you might imagine marrying in all that time?” Maggie said, cautiously.

He dragged his gaze up off the floor and looked at her for a long second, before dropping his gaze back down again. “Morrigan was the last woman I’ve been with. While I’d very much like to scrub the memory of that night out of my brain, the power imbalance between me and the women I’ve met is horrible. They’ve been trained from birth to say nothing but yes to me. How can I know what they want if they can’t say no?”

Maggie flinched. “Fuck. I’m… fuck.”

He squeezed her hand, but didn’t let go. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Maggie shook her head. “I’m upset for you, not because of you. Ten years is a long time to punish yourself for simply trying to survive an impossible situation.”

“Anyway, for the past couple of years, Natia and Zevran have been down in the Deep Roads looking for a cure to the death sentence of being a Grey Warden.”

Maggie froze.

He looked at her. “There is a ritual in being one. We have certain physical advantages over other people, but it means we only live thirty years after joining the order.”

“Oh my god,” she rasped.

“If they don’t succeed, I’ll die around age fifty. That’s a reasonably long life.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Not where I’m from. Not by any stretch.”

“At the end of our lives we hear the Calling, and we go down into the Deep Roads to fight Darkspawn and die.”

He stopped and took a breath.

“That’s what this letter is. Natia thinks they might have found a cure. She’s taking it to a mage we know, Avernus, to see if it works and if he can replicate it.”

“And if he can?” Maggie said quietly.

“The order in southern Thedas has almost been wiped out again. An ancient darkspawn called Corypheus took over the Orlesian Grey Wardens. If Natia can find a cure for our affliction, the order can rebuild but without the death sentence. People can join and serve, then eventually retire from it, without needing to give their lives when there is no Blight on the horizon.”

Maggie considered this. “Did you realise when you joined that it would kill you eventually?”

“I… no. The tradition was the recruits were not informed of the consequences of joining. Natia changed that as Warden Commander. But Maggie, I would still have made that choice. It was a fair price to pay for the chance to save Fereldan from the Bight. More than fair.”

Maggie made a small noise of disagreement in the back of her throat.

“I made my peace with dying before we fought the archdemon. The only reason I spent that night with Morrigan, the only one, was to stop Natia stealing the killing blow on it and dying.”

She huffed out a breath. “Fuck. Can I hug you?”

He looked at her in surprise. “How can you stand to even look at me after hearing the terrible things I did?”

Maggie frowned in consternation. “I don’t think anything you did was terrible. You did the best you could with the circumstances you were in and the knowledge you had.”

He gave her a half smile. “Yes, you can hug me.”

She twisted around and wrapped her arms around him. He let out a breath, and leaned towards her, resting his head on her shoulder. His back was knotted with tension and she rubbed small circles on it.

“What can I do? How can I help you with this?” she whispered.

He shook his head a little and buried his face in her hair. She tightened her arms around him and they sat quietly for several minutes.

Eventually he sat back and looked at her again. His hazel eyes were a little red. “Will you just sit with me? I have a lot to think about. Your company would be nice.”

“Of course. Anything you need.”

Maggie crossed her legs again, but stayed close to Alistair, keeping her knee against his thigh so he could feel she was there but not wanting to crowd him. She remained quiet and still, listening to his breathing as he leaned against the back of the couch and stared at the roof, lost in thought.

After a time, Edith came padding quietly over and sat on the floor in front of Maggie, watching her intently. Maggie moved her hand to the edge of the couch for Edith to sniff.

Her movement stirred Alistair. “Would you read to me?”

She looked at him. “Of course. Anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “I don’t mind.”

Maggie jumped up, considered for a moment then retrieved a book. She sat back beside him and quickly patted Edith, who was now sitting on his lap, purring contentedly.

As she began to read aloud from _The Epic And Wonderous Tales of Lucky: The First Mabari To Sail Across The Amaranthine Ocean_ , Alistair laughed quietly at her choice, then put his arm around her so she could lean against him as she read.


	9. Chapter 9

Maggie awoke curled up against Alistair’s side. His arm was still around her and he was leaning against the back of the couch still, but now he was snoring lightly. He smelled faintly of leather and elfroot powder and what she had internally described as ‘heroism’ some weeks ago but what seemed to be just… him. _The Epic And Wonderous Tales of Lucky: The First Mabari To Sail Across The Amaranthine Ocean_ had dropped to the floor during the night, but Edith was still curled up in a fluffy ginger ball on Alistair’s lap. Maggie extracted herself from under Alistair’s arm. He kept snoring, but Edith stirred, opening one green eye and regarding Maggie balefully.

She absently ran her hand over her hair. It was falling out of the braid Emmie had fashioned it into yesterday. She reached back and undid it, finger combing through, the familiar gesture soothing as she tried to gather her thoughts.

Alistair looked peaceful after the emotional turmoil of the previous night, face relaxed in sleep. Slumber had ruffled his strawberry blond hair, and his mouth was a little open as he snored. She felt a jolt of combined affection and desire.

_Stop staring at him like a creeper,_ she reprimanded herself.

“Hey,” she whispered when her hair was relatively tidy, and poked Alistair’s upper arm.

He opened his eyes, blinked, then sat up abruptly. Edith was tipped off his lap in an indignant heap. She jogged several steps then sat down, grooming vigorously to assuage her wounded pride.

“Good morning,” she said, “we fell asleep.”

He rolled his shoulders to ease the kinks out. “So I see. And good morning.”

Maggie pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. “You were snoring.”

He frowned in mock anger. “I was not snoring. Kings do not snore.”

“This King does,” she said, studying his face. He looked more himself this morning, smiling at her with his warm brown eyes as well as his mouth.

“Well at least I don’t drool in my sleep.”

“I was not drooling! Ladies do not drool.” Maggie grinned unrepentantly as she leaned over and wiped the damp patch on the front of his leather jerkin.

He laughed. “Of course not.”

Maggie poked him affectionately in the ribs, then turned around to look out the window. “Shit,” she said, “it’s dawn and Rory is expecting me for training soon.”

“Oh Maker’s breath, it is. I’ll never hear the end of it if I’m late for sparring,” Alistair muttered, and jumped to his feet. He held out his hand for Maggie and pulled her to her feet, then into a hug.

“Are you feeling a bit better today?” she said into his chest, then tipped her head back to look at his face again.

“I’m okay now, thank you for staying with me.” He squeezed her, then let her go.

“Any time you want to have a library sleepover I’m all yours.”

 

***

 

“You’ve got time for me to do your hair, my lady. You can’t go to training with it all loose and in your face,” said Emmie, delicately stepping out of the way as Maggie hopped around her quarters trying to pull her leather breeches on.

Maggie flopped down to sit on the side of her bed. “Alright, thank you Emmie.”

“Did you want me to ask about getting you a larger room?”

Maggie looked round in confusion. “No, this room is fine, why do you ask?”

“It’s very small for a Princess, Lady Maggie. Even a Princess in exile. I don’t know why Mistress Torwin assigned it to you.”

“Oh, she probably thinks I’m some random weirdo that King Alistair found getting attacked by demons in the countryside,” Maggie said, deadpan, and shrugged. “No, I don’t require anything bigger, this is perfectly nice. Well, unless you can find a room that has a bed with a giant Stormheart metal griffon holding a mattress of the finest nug fur, and expensive Orlesian silk sheets.”

“My lady?”

“It’s okay, Emmie, I’m only joking. Don’t tell the King but I like plain and sensible furnishings. It makes me less scared I’m going to break something or spill food on something.”

Maggie shut her eyes as Emmie wove her hair into an intricate auburn braid. Her emotions were still raw from the revelations of the previous night. It was easier to function without thinking. Talk to Alistair, come to her room, get dressed, talk to Emmie. She needed to keep the momentum of activity going. It was stopping that scared her, stopping meant she had to reflect on the pain in Alistair’s voice as he spoke about the events at the end of the Blight. How he told her those personal things, trusted her with the knowledge. Stopping meant she had to consider the implications of holding his hand and falling asleep curled up against him. The overwhelming mix of affection and desire she experienced in the library came flooding back and she sighed heavily.

_I’m so fucked. I shouldn’t fall in love with someone from another world._

 

***

 

“She’s slightly less shit than she was,” Roh said to Eliza as they leaned against the fence of the practice yard. Roh had propped her unstrung bow against the fence, a quiver of arrows beside it. “She’s only fallen over twice today and she’s swearing far less than usual.”

Eliza was eyeing Maggie critically. “She lacks grace. She seems to be focusing on being functional but she’s just so awkward.”

Roh dangled her arms over the top of the fence. “I like when she runs at Ser Rory but stumbles past him and hits the fence instead.”

Eliza nodded. “Or when she almost stabs him, then gets excited and distracted and trips over.”

Roh’s brow crinkled. “She tends to keep leaning left. She’s leaving herself open.”

“To be fair, my love, you aren’t an expert on hand to hand combat either. She should have taken up archery like you, she’s got that low centre of gravity to suit,” said Eliza, surreptitiously patting Roh’s backside.

Roh grinned. “Ohhh and remember the other day? When she caught a glimpse of the King running through his forms in the other yard and she fell flat on her face? That was a good one.”

Eliza nodded. “Thank Andraste he never takes his shirt off. She’d trip over more than she already does. She’d never learn to fight.”

There was a pause as Maggie bent down to gather her wooden dagger off the ground.

“Andraste’s colossal tits, Maggie’s arse does look spectacular in those leather breeches though,” Roh said, leering theatrically.

“It’s pleasingly ample,” Eliza said, nodding solemnly.

“I can hear you both!” Maggie said, straightening up and laughing breathlessly. She waved the practice dagger towards the two women. “Can’t you get them to shut up, Rory? Isn’t it against a code of honour or something to have them heckling me?”

“Nah, it’s funny,” Rory said, flashing her a toothy grin.

“You’re all terrible people!” she tried to stop laughing and catch her breath.

_This is good. Keep busy, keep laughing,_ she thought.

Maggie shook her head, and lunged at Rory again, clipping the edge of his coat with a stab.

She stopped and pointed at him, grinning broadly. “Did you see that? I got you.”

Rory sighed. “Lass, if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times, if you manage to connect with anyone in a fight you don’t stop and congratulate yourself.”

Roh was golf clapping. “That’s it, Maggie, those bandits will appreciate you pointing out their mild injuries.”

Eliza looked over her shoulder. “It’s almost time for the King’s sparring demonstration.”

Rory held up his right hand to halt Maggie’s training, and reached into his coat pocket with his left.

“Alright, girl, I’ve got something for you,” Rory said gruffly, handing Maggie a handful of leather. “You’ve improved. A little. I’m going to trust you not to stab yourself with the dagger the King gave you.”

Maggie made a high-pitched noise of excitement and held up the leather. It was a belt with a sheath for a dagger attached. The leather was a warm chocolate-coloured brown and someone had tooled a delicate leaf design over both.

“My cousin is a leatherworker, she made it for you. It’s Snoufleur leather with a Royal Elfroot motif. Mind you don’t prove me wrong and stab yourself.”

Maggie grinned at him, and strapped the belt around her waist, taking the dagger from the box wrapped in her coat, where it had sat every practice. She sheathed it carefully. Roh gracefully vaulted the fence to help her adjust it.

“It’s beautiful, thank you so much,” Maggie said.

Rory dismissed her with a gesture. “Just don’t kill yourself accidentally. I want to keep on the good side of the King.”

“Heads up,” warned Eliza, “the gruesome threesome are nearby.”

Maggie looked up as Bann Aetumal came striding past the area, with his other daughters and niece in tow. One of them peeled off and walked over to Roh.

Maggie had only seen them from a distance, usually near Alistair. Roh had a lot to say about her family, mostly negative, but Maggie didn’t want that to colour her view before she’d even had a chance to speak with them.

The willowy young woman had a soft smile. “Are you coming to watch the King, Rohlessa?”

“Almost on our way, Jennet,” said Roh, leaning back and regarding Maggie’s belt with a critical eye. “I’m just fixing up my favourite exiled Princess.”

“Nice to meet you, Lady Jennet.” Maggie waved at Jennet as Roh gave her belt one last tug into place.

“And you must be Lady Maggie.” Jennet’s expression became a little wary.

Roh and Maggie exchanged a glance and started walking towards the other training grounds where the demonstration was taking place. Jennet joined them, hooking her arm through Roh’s. Eliza and Rory trailed behind them.

“You shouldn’t participate in weapons training, Roh,” Jennet murmured, “You’ll never find a husband.”

Eliza choked down a laugh.

“Oh Jen,” said Roh, amused, “I don’t think there is a husband in my future.”

“Now Roh, don’t be so hard on yourself. You are quite pretty enough. You shouldn’t give up hope!”

Roh made a neutral humming noise.

“If you insist on believing you don’t want a husband, maybe you could find a wife of suitable noble birth.”

Roh sighed and put her arm around her sister. “How progressive of you. Now come on Jen, let’s watch the sparring.”

Alistair and the captain of his guard were fully armoured, circling each other in the ring. Various nobles had shown up for the demonstration, as well as off duty guardsmen and women. Maggie had only seen Alistair fighting the day he killed the demon, and training only from a distance.

Alistair moved in, swinging his wooden sword with savagery and the captain responded in kind with his shield. The clack of wooden weapons crashing together and the clang of weapons on armour filled the air. It was far louder than Maggie expected. Far more aggressive.

“Holy shit, it’s brutal,” said Maggie, aghast.

“They are properly sparring, it’s different to solo practice or showing off forms. This is a demonstration bout, so they are not holding anything back,” said Rory.

“I just expected something more sedate and elegant and fluid. I’ve seen swordsmanship demonstrations back where I come from, and they are lithe and graceful.”

“You don’t think they are graceful?” said Eliza, from the other side of Maggie.

“Well, yeah I guess they are. They are just… also very large and trying to beat the shit out of each other.”

“Yep that’s sparring. It’s like you’ve never met the King before, girl. He is large. He is a warrior. This is what they do,” said Rory.

“Wait a minute. How the fuck am I supposed to defend myself when someone is coming at me like that?” Maggie hissed.

Rory shrugged. “You rely on speed and grace with a dagger.”

Roh snorted audibly from the other side of Eliza.

“You dart in, stab, dart away. Let someone with a shield engage an attacker from the front while you stab them from behind. That’s what I’m teaching you.”

“I guess I never realised what it could look like for real,” Maggie muttered, and gripped the hilt of her dagger. “Fuck that, it’s terrifying.”

“The King is as good as you’ll ever see. You’re learning to defend yourself against demons or ruffians, not a former Grey Warden who was templar trained.”

“I’m not sure that helps, but thanks.”

They lapsed into silence, watching the men. To the side of Roh, her sisters and cousin were chatting. Maggie could only hear snippets of the conversation between Roh and her oldest sister Elinor, who had taken Jennet’s place at her side.

“Do you think he’ll take his shirt off?” Elinor’s voice had a snide quality that Maggie instinctively disliked.

Roh’s voice was flat and neutral, contrasting horribly with her usual passion. “He never takes his shirt off.”

“I wish he would. I heard that the Archdemon bit him. I do like a man with scars.”

“They have to wear armour otherwise they’ll get covered in cuts and bruises,” said Roh, impatiently.

Elinor’s tone grew husky. “I wish he’d take his breeches off. Now that would be worth watching.”

Roh made a disgusted noise and kept her eyes on the sparring.

Elinor’s voice grew louder. “Did you hear the rumours he was finally fucking someone? Amazing, we’d been wondering if he was incapable.”

Roh spoke casually, though Maggie detected an undercurrent of venom. “Have you really got nothing better to think about, Elinor?”

Maggie opened her mouth to say something.

Eliza pressed her foot onto Maggie’s toes and leaned in, so her lips were almost brushing Maggie’s ear. “Elinor wants someone to make a comment about her rudeness, so she can cause a scene. She’s been doing it to Roh for years. She gets off on it.”

Maggie clenched her fists. “She’s being incredibly disrespectful,” she whispered shortly.

“Elinor’s not worth it. It’ll only end up distracting the King and causing problems,” Eliza whispered sympathetically.

Anger sat heavily on Maggie.

_He’s getting talked about like he’s a piece of meat. Just a means to an end. Not a person at all. No one deserves that, least of all him._

Maggie took a shaky breath.

_Remember where you are_ , she thought. _This isn’t Sydney in 1999. Imagine being raised from birth to only focus on an advantageous marriage as the sum total of your accomplishments. I should pity her, not be angry at mean girl bitchiness._

“Thank you,” she murmured to Eliza.

Eliza gave her hand a quick squeeze.

Maggie let the chatter fade into the background as she watched Alistair move around the training area. She remembered Alistair’s arm around her last night and this morning, how he talked about thoughts and feelings, his broken heart and his pain. She knew how he looked when he slept, and how he smelled really good. Roh’s sister used her petty, vicious words to hurt, but didn’t realise all she could never have.

 

***

 

Later that day, Maggie realised that The Book, as she thought of it, was being… odd. Maggie had bought it to the library as usual, but when she had gone to retrieve it from her room, it had felt different.

When she was twelve, her family had gone on holiday to Surfers Paradise up in Queensland. On a market day there, Maggie had her palm read by a woman in a tent. Maggie had forgotten most of what the palm reader had told her, just vague mentions of two kids, a loving husband, living far away from the city, but what she did remember was the strange tingling sensation she got in the back of her neck. Not that she believed in fortune telling, but more the impression, the possibility that someone might know her future, and just out of sight was the reality of it. Like a book she wanted to read, but with the pages stuck together, the contents currently unknown but potentially available.

Her book was giving her the same feeling in the back of her neck.

Maggie put The Book on the floor beside her chair and covered it with a stack of _Modern Val Royeaux Woman_ magazines that someone had recently donated.

The door opened and Alistair came in, holding a small, covered tray. She cleared a space on the chair beside her for him to sit.

“Sorry about the mess,” Maggie said, “I was on a roll with sorting out the new acquisitions. They’ll be swamping me for days.”

Alistair placed the tray on the table. “I can’t stay for long, otherwise Senior Royal Scribe Xanthe will come and hunt me down and tell me off. She’s very scary. We’ve got the peace talks in Jader soon, and apparently that mostly involves sending Vitally Important Letters.”

“Sounds very Kingly. A Terrifying Scribe and Crucial Royal Correspondence.”

“Naturally,” Alistair said, grinning. He pulled the cloth off the top of the tray to reveal a series of small brown blobs.

Maggie regarded the blobs and looked questioningly at Alistair.

“It’s Druffalo mozzarella rolled in breadcrumbs and Antivan herbs and fried. It’s one of my favourites.” He popped one whole in his mouth and waggled his eyebrows encouragingly.

Maggie cautiously bit one in half. It did indeed taste like warm mozzarella, with a crunchy spicy crust. She shoved the rest of it into her mouth and gave Alistair an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Before I forget, I also got a letter from Inquisitor Cadash. She and some Inquisition members will be coming to close the Fade rift in a couple of weeks. She said Dorian Pavus is keen to talk with you in person about the book.”

_So soon? Shit,_ she thought.

“Alright,” she said aloud, softly.

They looked at each for slightly too long.

Alistair cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologise for last night.”

Maggie shook her head emphatically. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

Alistair frowned. “I didn’t want to burden you.”

Maggie blinked in surprise. “Burden me? Knowing things about you is no burden.”

“I… thank you.”

She leaned on the table. “Talking about things that bother you is important. It’s healthy.”

He looked down at his hands. “I’ve not been able to do that since… since Natia.”

“Could you have talked to your advisors?”

He shrugged. “Only about stuff that’s relevant to governance.

“What about your uncle?”

“A little, initially. He seems to feel some affection for me, in his way. King Maric, my father, asked him to raise me, and he did until he got married. His wife, Isolde, didn’t like the rumours that I was Eamon’s bastard, so they sent me to the Chantry when I was ten.”

Maggie scowled. “Maybe he cared for you, but that’s one hell of a shit way to treat a child.”

Alistair looked up at her. “At ten, I wasn’t so far from being a man, not a child.”

“Fuck that.” Maggie grabbed the edge of the table and leaned forward. “A ten-year-old is a child. More importantly, you were a person, not a burden to send away when things got difficult.”

Maggie drew her dagger and stabbed the druffalo mozzarella. She huffed an angry breath, then used the dagger to cut one in half.

Alistair’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “You’re using a lazurite dagger I found during the Blight to slice cheese. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Maggie laughed in spite of herself.

She used the tip of her dagger to pass Alistair the slice, then wiped it on the hem of her dress and sheathed it.

“Eamon thinks I should do my duty to Fereldan and marry, regardless of the unlikelihood of an heir. He doesn’t know my reasons for not wanting to, but he wouldn’t find them valid. He’s made it abundantly clear that family feelings are nothing compared to duty.”

“I was lucky, growing up. My Mum was amazing, and my brother Jon was a pain in the arse, but he was my pain in the arse. I hate that you didn’t have the feeling of being part of a family.”

Alistair selected another lump of cheese. “They must be worried about you. You’ve hardly talked about them before.”

Maggie grimaced. “They’re dead, along with my Dad. There’s no family waiting from me.”

Alistair looked stricken. “I’m really sorry.”

“Mum and Jon were killed five years ago, Dad died a year ago. I wish Mum and Jon could see this world. Mum would have loved this library, she was a teacher and loved to read. Jon would have been much better at weapons training than I am, he would have been so excited to learn how to use a sword.”

A tear ran down Maggie’s cheek. The grief never truly went away, she just got used to living with it. Alistair leaned over and wiped the tear away with his fingertips.

She looked at him in surprise.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She gave him a watery smile, and reached down to grab his hand. “I’m lucky to have had them. I’ve got so many happy memories of Mum and Jon. Dad was a jerk, but it could have been much worse.”

Alistair lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.

There was a knock at the door and he very gently placed her hand back on the table.

A middle-aged elven woman stuck her head into the room. “Your majesty,” she began, “I really must ask that you come and review the royal correspondence.”

“On my way, Scribe Xanthe,” Alistair said, and bent down towards Maggie. “Goodnight Maggie,” he whispered.

“Goodnight Alistair,” she whispered in return.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my sister [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for the editing help, and continued tolerance of my inability to wrangle commas!

“Your ‘just friends’ thing is druffalo shit. You really like him.”

“Is that a statement or an accusation?” said Maggie mildly, spooning porridge into her mouth.

Roh narrowed her eyes.

“Fine. Of course I like him. Everyone likes him, he’s a nice man.”

“Maker’s majestic testicles, Maggie. First the dagger, then you spend hours doing Maferath knows what in that library, now you can’t keep your eyes off each other.”

Alistair was sitting at the top table as usual with his Uncle Eamon, various dignitaries, and Bann Aetumal. Roh’s sisters and cousin sat a little way down the table. He was consuming a huge plate of bacon, eggs, sausages, and hash browns with great gusto. Maggie smiled fondly, then looked back at Roh.

“He’s enjoyable to look at,” Maggie said defensively.

Roh snorted. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

They both turned around to wave to Eliza, who was standing in her usual breakfast spot in the corner of the hall, chatting to the other guards. Eliza looked perplexed, but waved back.

“Anyway,” Roh said, turning back to her buttered toast, “His Attractive Majesty keeps looking at you too.”

Maggie’s gaze snapped back to Alistair, who was indeed sneaking a look over at her.

She grinned wickedly and subtly pointed to the Aetumal girls, held up three fingers then gave a thumbs up. Alistair started choking on his hash brown. Arl Eamon vigorously slapped him on the back.

Roh observed the exchange with evident fascination. “What was that about?” she said curiously.

“Oh, the other day I asked him if your sisters and cousin were planning on seducing him into a foursome,” Maggie whispered, taking another spoonful of porridge.

“YOU TALKED,” Roh said loudly, then modulated her tone to a whisper, “you talked to the King about group sex? I was only joking when I implied you were doing the nasty in the library because he’s the straightest arrow I’ve ever met. Andraste’s quim, I’m impressed.”

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “It was less scandalous that what you’re implying.”

Roh’s eyes were wide. “Are you certain?”

Maggie huffed. “Well I was until now.”

Her eyes drifted back to Alistair. He’d recovered from choking on his breakfast and was now getting subjected to a lengthy lecture from Bann Aetumal, judging by that man’s self-important expression and numerous gesticulations. Alistair had schooled his face to polite blankness, though Maggie saw a glint in his eye that indicated he’d rather be enjoying his bacon. His gaze found hers again.

Maggie mouthed a silent “Sorry.”

He smiled briefly and rolled his eyes.

Roh’s voice bought Maggie’s attention back to her own table. “Hey, thanks for successfully ignoring Elinor yesterday.”

Maggie chuckled ruefully. “Does she usually make a habit of saying things like that about the person one of you is supposed to be seducing into a highly advantageous marriage?”

Roh leaned back in her seat. “I’d say at this point they’re only doing it to shut Father up. The King has made it abundantly clear he’s not interested in marriage.”

Maggie sipped her mug of deliciously strong tea contemplatively. “Isn’t this stopping them from achieving an actual marriage?”

“Father’s got his heart set on the King,” Roh said, helping herself to more buttered toast.

“Maybe he should try and marry Alistair.”

Roh laughed. “Anyway, last time I called Elinor out on her bad behaviour, she fell to the ground and had hysterics.”

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Wow. I didn’t know adults actually did that.”

_There must be something seriously wrong upstairs if Elinor’s doing that though,_ Maggie thought.

“I feel sorry for her,” Roh said, unconsciously echoing Maggie’s own thoughts. “The civil war and the Blight killed so many people, there are hardly any suitable nobles left to marry. Father staked our family future on one of us marrying the King and that’s clearly not going to happen. What’s left for Elinor and the others? She’s acting like a crazy bitch, but I think she’s lost and broken.”

Maggie wrapped both hands around her tea mug and considered her own life. Her choices had always been her own, she’d been able to attend University, get a job, date who she wanted. It would be terrible having nothing to do except try to achieve something impossible.

Roh sighed. “Anyway, Father gets handy with his belt if any of us cause trouble. That’s generally me.”

“Okay, that’s fucked up,” Maggie said, outraged.

Roh shook her head. “I’m unmarried, he can do what he wants.”

Maggie scowled. “If there’s one thing I really hate, it’s shit like that.”

Roh grimaced into her breakfast. “I want to marry ‘Liza, but not until I can get away from Father. I don’t want her to think I’d marry her to escape my family.”

“Maybe I could help. Talk to Alistair and ask if he can find your Father a diplomatic post far away from here, or something useful for your sisters to do.”

Roh shrugged fatalistically. “I don’t know if that would work. Nothing ever seems to change.”

Maggie reached over and squeezed her hand. “We at least could try.”

Roh squeezed her hand back, took a deep breath and sat back up, putting her shoulders back and donning her usual bravado. “Alright, thank you. Hey, see Lady Neven, that stole she’s wearing looks like someone skinned the bastard child of a bronto and a ram.”

 

***

 

“May I borrow this book? I’ll return it forthwith,” Delia stood awkwardly in front of Maggie, holding out a large volume.

She’d been quiet all afternoon, only exchanging pleasantries with Maggie briefly before immersing herself in her studies.

Maggie put aside her catalogue cards and smiled at the younger woman. “Sure, that’s fine.”

Delia turned a little, looking to retreat, but Maggie leaned towards her.

“How are your studies going?” Maggie said, smiling at Delia. “You mentioned when we first met that you studied the interaction between non-mages and the Fade. It sounded really interesting.”

Delia brightened slightly. “Well I’m getting close to a breakthrough about the parallax lines of magical energy causing a confluence of hybrid synergistic powers in the fourth quadrant. It’s very pleasing.”

Maggie blinked. “Oh. Um. I… imagine that would be pleasing, yes.”

_Was that Thedosian technobabble? Shit, what if she starts talking about dilithium crystals in the warp manifolds?_

Maggie’s brain supplied words for her to use. “So, you recognized that there was a confluence of hybrid synergistic powers?”

Delia smiled, for the first time that Maggie had seen. “Yes! There were anomalous energy surges in the mystic mana osmotic core.”

Maggie nodded sagely. “Ahh, I see, I see. I imagine anomalous energy surges would be quite vexing, is that the case?”

_I wonder if tribbles are a thing here_.

Delia leaned forward and gestured with her book for emphasis. “They can be, but sometimes they depolarise the magical ventrifical force powers. Supposedly the Fade flux waves last in perpetuity, as is common knowledge, but there are faint signatures of ley reactions causing greater magical efficiencies where there shouldn’t be.”

“Oh, ley reactions, interesting,” Maggie murmured, trying to appear appropriately encouraging.

_Her engines are overheating Captain, I canna provide any more power. The Enterprise is going doooooooown._

The main library door swung open and both women looked up to see Alistair coming in with a pile of writing materials. There was a basket hooked over one arm.

He smiled affably. “Good afternoon Lady Maggie, Mistress Delia. Don’t let me get in your way, I have to do some exciting and not at all pointless research on Orlesian customs before our meeting in Jader.”

“Hello, your majesty,” said Maggie, “Delia and I were discussing her research about the Fade.”

Delia hugged her book to her chest and shuffled her feet. “I should get going anyway. Former Royal Librarian Hubert didn’t want me to dally.”

“Oh. Ah, okay,” said Maggie, “thank you for the chat.”

Delia nodded to her and Alistair, and walked quickly out of the library.

“Well on the plus side I’m fairly certain Delia, for one, doesn’t want to seduce you,” said Maggie.

Alistair frowned. “She’s an odd one. Not, ah, because she doesn't want to woo me. Just... in general.”

Maggie shook her head. “There is nothing at all wrong with being socially awkward. I like quirky people.”

“She doesn’t like me, probably because I still have templar powers.”

“Why would that be an issue?”

“I suspect she might be an apostate. She seems harmless enough, I’ve got nothing against mages. Maker knows my friend Wynne saved my life often enough with her magic. Morrigan too, I suppose.” His hands clenched, then relaxed. “Anyway, I really do need to do that research. I don’t want to cause another war by using the wrong spoon during dinner and upsetting Empress Celene.”

Maggie stretched in her chair. “And I need to keep making my way through that enormous pile of books for sorting and cataloguing.”

Alistair put his basket under his chair and spread out his note taking materials. He went to fetch some books and came back with _Enjoy Your Escargot: Orlesian Customs For Beginners_ and _Mabari Are Always Outside Pets: Travails Of A Fereldan Living In Val Royeux_.

They sat in companionable silence for a time, each engrossed in their respective tasks.

“ _Erotic Herbology: 101 Intimate Uses For Spindleweed_.” Maggie said, breaking the silence, as she wrote the title on the catalogue card. “Interesting taste in books you have, Alistair.”

He laughed. “That would be one former Royal Librarian Hubert ordered instead of myself, sorry to disappoint you. Unless Delia has a dark side we don’t know about.”

Maggie opened the book to a random page and winced at the illustrations. “One thing to say for Thedas, you are all certainly creative with your uses of herbs.”

“Um, no thank you. Spindleweed makes me itch.”

“You’d better keep it away from your little king then, following these instructions wouldn’t end well for you.”

Alistair’s ears went very pink. “My lit… Maker’s Breath, you didn’t just say that? You just said that.”

Maggie grinned unrepentantly and added _Erotic Herbology_ to the pile of books to shelve. “How about this one,” she said, selecting the next book in the acquisitions pile, “ _Classic Fereldan Cookery_. Your national cuisine, how fun.”

“I bet it’s all stew.”

Maggie paged through the book. “Well, there’s druffalo stew.”

Alistair nodded. “Yes, that’s a classic. Solid and traditional.”

“Oh, goat stew. That’s quite a nice drawing of it.”

“Mmm, nice with freshly baked bread. Can be a little stringy though.”

Maggie giggled. “How about lamb and pea stew?”

He peered over at the book. “Is it grey? It should be grey.”

Maggie turned the page and made a face. “Oh gross, nug stew.”

Alistair got a faraway look in his eyes. “I’ve had that a lot, when we travelled during the Blight. It’s okay so long as you don’t include their little feet in it.”

Maggie pointed at one of the recipes. “There’s that porridge with the dried fruit that I like. They call it ‘breakfast stew’.”

“So, it’s all stew. Fereldan isn’t known for its sophisticated cuisine. I’m impressed someone wrote an entire book on it.”

“Should I take this book down to the kitchen? Let Cook get some use out of it.”

“Good idea.”

“Okay, I’ll make a separate pile for that.”

Maggie placed the book on the floor.

“What have we got next?” Maggie chose the next book, “ _Pirates of Rialto Bay_. Provocative cover, she’s not wearing any pants.”

She placed the book on the table and began to write the title on a card.

Alistair tilted his head to view the cover illustration. “In my experience lady pirates don’t generally wear pants.”

Maggie laughed. “I like that pantsless pirates are something you are familiar with.”

She finished writing the catalogue card and lifted it up to blow on the ink, finally moving the book to the shelving pile.

“This looks intriguing,” Maggie took another book from the pile, “ _Advanced Sensual Antivan Massage_.”

Alistair blushed. “Okay that one I might have ordered. Good for training injuries,” he said defensively.

Maggie smirked. “Of course.” She wrote the catalogue card and carefully put it in alphabetical order.

Alistair surreptitiously swiped the massage manual from the pile and started flicking through it.

“This next one is called _Swords and Shields_. Why is there a sexy dwarven man on the cover of a book about weaponry?” Maggie opened the book to a random page and started to laugh. “Oh dear. Okay, that’s not about fighting.”

“I know the author of that one, we met in Kirkwall. I believe that’s an autographed copy.”

“Wow, autographed smut. You do have friends in high places,” Maggie said, grinning at him.

He snorted, and leaned sideways to retrieve the basket of food sitting beside his chair. “We’ve got Starkhaven caboc today, by the way. Cook gave me some apples to slice and dunk in the cheese. There’s honey in here too, for drizzling over it.”

“Fancy.” Maggie stacked the catalogue cards and new books in a pile at the end of the table, leaving _Swords and Shields_ on top.

Alistair passed her a slice of apple and caboc and she hummed in thanks, stuffing the whole thing in her mouth.

Alistair looked thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking a lot about dinosaurs. Those creatures you had painted on your breeches.”

There was a pause as Maggie finished her mouthful. “Yes, I am familiar with dinosaurs,” she said dryly, “what did you want to know?”

“How did their bodies survive millions of years? Things that old should be dust.”

“A tiny few of the creatures had their bodies turn to stone. Have you ever heard to people finding rocks with patterns or skeletons imprinted on them? They might appear a little like runestones?”

Alistair leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Yes, but those are the signs of ancient magic.”

“Perhaps. Or possibly ancient creatures who became part of the stones. If they die in certain conditions, they become preserved.”

“I would like to see one. They sound majestic.”

“Oh, dinosaurs, that reminds me,” said Maggie, remembering her conversation with Roh at breakfast, “Have you ever thought about asking Roh’s sisters and cousin if they want to be married?”

Alistair blenched. “Maker, no.”

“Not to you! But it must be shit hanging around here, throwing themselves at you for no purpose. There must be eligible people in other countries who might want noble ties to Fereldan. I mean, they might not want that, but it could be an option.”

Alistair had a look of consideration. “Interesting.”

“Or they or their Father could have some useful diplomatic purpose? It seems so wasteful and pointless spending their whole lives here under the thumb of Bann Aetumal. Roh says he can be violent too, which is horrible for them.”

Alistair nodded. “I’ll make enquiries.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

Maggie used a slice of apple to scoop a large pile of the caboc, closed her eyes and ate it with relish.

Alistair cleared his throat. “Sooooo,” he said, fiddling nervously with his own slice of apple. “I’ve been thinking.”

Maggie swallowed her mouthful. “Not just about dinosaurs?”

He smiled. “Not just about dinosaurs.”

Maggie was intrigued. “What about?”

He looked at her. “In your world, how do people have relationships? How does courting work?”

“Oh. Ohhhh.” Maggie blushed. “Well. Do you mean people people or royal people? Because those things are quite different.”

“I mean people people. People like you.”

Maggie picked up her quill to give her hands something to do. “Okay, well if you, er, like someone romantically, usually you ask them out on a date.”

Alistair frowned. “Like a date in a calendar?”

“No, it means spending time together, like the movies…” Maggie explained, waggling the quill for emphasis.

Alistair looked blank.

Maggie grimaced. “Sorry, bad example. Okay, your equivalent could be going out to dinner in a tavern, then watching the performance of a travelling minstrel. Together. With no other people in your group.”

“Ooookay.” Alistair looked sceptical.

Maggie was starting to flounder. “And afterwards you might kiss? And if you like them enough then, er, spend the night with them? I mean not straight away. But people do and that’s fine too. No judgement. I mean I’d rather wait for awhile before shagging someone but whatever floats your boat. I mean. Shit.”

Alistair laughed. “I… see…. I think I can work out what shagging means, but dating involves boats?”

Maggie banged her head down on the desk. “No boats. Okay, I can do this. You spend time together. Alone. Do activities together. Talk. Get to know each other. Then if there is a mutual attraction you can kiss. After that when you are both ready you can spend the night together. And at some unknown point during that entire process you are courting.”

“So. First you spend time together, which you call ‘dating’?”

“Yeah. How does it work here?”

“Well it depends on who you are. On your station. On your race. What country you are in.”

“Well okay, how would it work for me? I mean me, Maggie MacConnell the Librarian, not Lady Maggie the fake Princess in exile. Say,” Maggie said narrowing her eyes in thought, “say if I was born in Denerim to parents who were prosperous merchants.”

Alistair considered that idea. “Well you might meet the son or daughter of some business associates of your parents and if you like talking to them you might spend time together in a tavern after work, or you might invite them around to dinner.”

“So I’d be free to choose?”

“Not always, you might be strongly encouraged to associate with people who will benefit your family.”

“And if I were noble I wouldn’t have a choice at all?”

“Not usually, no.”

“Roh seems to be bucking that trend well enough.”

“No one in the world is brave enough to tell Lady Rohlessa who to marry.”

Maggie considered about what Roh had said about her Father and smiled ruefully. “True. Okay, what if I didn’t have parents?”

“Same thing but you’d have more freedom to choose.”

“But people rarely marry above their class?”

“They don’t typically have the opportunity.”

“I guess that makes sense. A Librarian isn’t normally going to spend time with a King. And of course, political alliances for royalty and nobility and all that,” she said and vaguely waved her hand.

He looked reflectively at the slice of apple he was still holding. “We’ve been spending time together.”

Maggie’s heart did a little flip flop in her chest. 

“We have,” she agreed.

“Even though I’m a King.”

“In spite of that fact you’re a King, not because of it, yes.”

“What would you say,” he said very carefully, “if I asked you to go on a date with me?”

Maggie caught her breath. “Do you mean you the man or you the King?”

“Me the man.”

“Okay in that case, yes.”

He looked relieved. She took his hand and laced her fingers through his. He gave her a goofy grin and stroked her hand with his thumb.

“My answer is still yes. So much yes,” Maggie beamed at him. “But how would it work? Where could we go on a date without causing a public incident? Would we need a chaperone to make sure I didn’t sully your Kingly virtue? Would it be Eamon? Oh gods.”

He laughed and squeezed her hand. “I was thinking a private picnic. Just us. No Uncle Eamon.”

“Okay, that sounds lovely. Definitely no Eamon?”

“Definitely no Eamon.”

“And no bystanders?”

“No bystanders to outrage with your teasing and my informal behaviour.”

Maggie felt like she would burst from happiness. “A real date. In private. I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the official attempts to explain why Alistair had Templar abilities in Origins but wasn't a lyrium addict was that the darkspawn taint in his blood was magical and he could use that magic to power them instead of lyrium. There are various arguments around about his Templar abilities, naturally, because this is the internet, but I quite liked that explanation and so used it for this fic.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my lovely readers: Thank you again for reading this fic! I’ve loved every comment and am very grateful for your kudos :D 
> 
> Also thanks to my sister [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for reading this over for me!

Maggie tapped her fingers on the tavern table and considered for a moment. “Oh, you know what? I definitely miss elasticated underwear.”

Roh looked intrigued. “What does elasticated mean?”

“Ah, in Spicellennium we have a plant called a rubber plant. It produces sap that can be refined into stretchy material. So, you put that into clothing, and it conforms to your body and stays up.”

“You don’t have ties on your smallclothes? That’s some strange magic,” said Roh incredulously.

“Nope, an elasticated waistband and leg holes keep everything fitted and comfortable. How can you all live with sagging undies? It’s driving me insane,” Maggie said, scowling as she surreptitiously pulled her drooping underpants up at the back.

Roh shrugged. “You have to tie them up properly. Hope by the Maker’s blessed scrotum they don’t fall down at the wrong moment.”

Maggie huffed. “And instead of breastbands or these giant boob holders like they gave me, we had bras which had much less fabric and far more support.” She made a vague cupping motion in front of her chest. “They would keep the girls secure and perky with far less fabric. You could get bras with pretty colours, ribbons, and lace too.”

Roh’s eyes were sparkling. “With ribbons and lace. Andraste’s tits. Literally. What a marvellous place you come from.”

Eliza came back to the table holding three tankards of ale.

“Did I miss anything?” she said, handing a drink to Maggie.

Roh leaned over and grabbed one of the tankards. “Apparently where Maggie is from, everyone has lacy tits.”

Eliza looked intrigued. “Nice.”

Roh pointed at Maggie. “Right, now that Eliza’s back, I want to hear everything that happened yesterday.”

Maggie sipped her ale. “It’s less exciting than you are imaging.”

Roh shook her head. “We’ll be the judges of that. Getting into King Alistair’s smalls has been a topic of conversation amongst my family for a long time now. I want to hear a success story. Well, an almost success story.”

“Well, first I showed him the erotic herbology book I was cataloguing.”

Roh looked sceptical. “Okay.”

Eliza had positioned herself at the edge of the bench, keeping a wary eye on the other patrons in the Gnawed Noble tavern.

Maggie contemplated her tankard. “And then I said he shouldn’t put any Spindleweed near his penis.”

Roh spat out her mouthful of ale onto the table. A harried looking waitress came over with a cloth, scowling at the women as she wiped it up.

“Maggie,” Roh croaked after the waitress had left, “that is the least sexy thing anyone has ever said. Ever. In the entire history of Thedas.”

Eliza turned around and looked gobsmacked. “He said he wanted to court you AFTER you spontaneously gave him advice about his manhood?”

Maggie shrugged awkwardly. “Well, he’s allergic to Spindleweed.”

“WHY DO YOU KNOW THAT?” Roh shrieked, and put her head in her hands. “Oh, Maker’s fuzzy arse cheeks. He’s almost as bad as you are. How are you not both virgins?”

“We talk a lot,” Maggie said defensively. “You know, we find out things about each other.”

“Okay great. You discussed his royal cock and his allergies. I’m overwhelmed with the romance,” Roh said dryly, “What happened next?”

Maggie scrunched up her face in recollection. “Well, we talked about Fereldan food, and he was reading a book about sexy massages. Nothing controversial there.”

Roh made a face. “Well, that’s an improvement. A slight improvement.”

“And we ate apples with a creamy cheese,” said Maggie, smiling at the memory.

Roh grinned wickedly. “Is that a euphemism?”

“What!” Maggie said, glaring at Roh. “No, we literally ate apples and cheese.”

Roh rolled her eyes. “Of course you did.”

Maggie took a long drink of her ale. “And then we talked about dinosaurs.”

“The pink things you had painted on your breeches?” said Roh, brow furrowed in thought. “The ones that are sacred animals?”

“Oh. Ah, yes. Those. Anyway, after that I asked about finding productive jobs for your family.”

“Okay yes, that’s helpful, thank you.”

“And then he asked about courting customs in my country. And I asked about courting in your country. Then he asked me out on a date.”

Roh looked perplexed. “As in date in a calendar?”

Maggie leaned forward and rested her elbows on the sticky table. “No, I mean date as in going for a picnic. Together. Alone. Well, as alone as we’re allowed to be.”

“Did he kiss you?” Roh said, looking curious.

Maggie grinned. “He took my hand. That was romantic. No allergies or genitalia mentioned.”

“And?” Roh prompted.

“And that’s it, we said goodnight not long after that.”

Roh looked despairing. “Have you kissed at all?”

“Not with our faces.”

Roh looked perplexed. “Not with your… what part of yourself did you kiss with?”

Maggie smiled at the memory. “He kissed my hand the other day. With his mouth. It was sweet and romantic.”

“Maker’s holy shaft. You should jump him at the picnic.”

Eliza looked around at them and chuckled. “That’s not how everyone works, Roh.”

Roh shrugged carelessly, with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes at her girlfriend. “That’s how I work.”

Eliza smirked. “I remember.”

Maggie smiled fondly at the other women, then sighed. “It’s been awhile for both of us, I don’t want to rush anything.”

“Long term celibacy is a reason to rush things Maggie,” said Roh, “not a reason to take it slowly.”

 

***

 

Maggie hurried down the hallway towards her room.

 _If the palace bathing area has taught me anything,_ she thought, _it’s that everyone at least seems to have the same body parts that I’m used to. Just the one standard human cock each for people that have them. The ladies all looked like ladies I’d see in a swimming pool changing room back in Sydney. Well, a lot hairier, to be fair._

She looked ruefully down at her own hairy legs, currently hidden under her dress.

_No disposable razors here. Not sure I’m brave enough to tackle legs, underarms, and the lady garden with a fucking cutthroat razor. I wonder if they have wax for hair removal? Emmie would probably help me with that, but I’m not that brave. Or willing to subject poor Emmie to that experience. Anyway, I doubt my fuzzy legs are of any concern to Alistair. What I need to do is put my Sex Research Plan in place and make sure it’s all done the same way as on Earth. I really don’t need to end up in bed with Alistair at one point and find out standard practice is to do a handstand and recite their Chant of Light or something._

Lost in her thoughts, she almost collided with a young dark-haired woman hurrying in the other direction.

“Oh Delia, hello. I haven’t seen you in this part of the palace before.”

Delia gave Maggie a genuine smile. “Greetings, Lady Maggie. It’s lovely to see you. It’s like a Fade confluence right here in this hallway, or as I like to say, the magical frequency modulations have re-aligned into a favourable matrix.”

“Ahh yes, it’s lovely to see you too. Will I see you in the library this evening?”

“No, not today. Former Royal Librarian Hubert wishes me to debrief him.”

Maggie blinked and made a small noise of alarm.

Delia continued, oblivious to any innuendo. “I’ve been studying the magical microfilament regulators, but he is less confident on the topic, so I’ll need to go over it with him. He has become very interested in my research.”

Maggie nodded in relief. “Oh right. Debriefing about your research. Of course.”

Delia gave her an odd look. “Naturally. Now I must take my leave. Have a pleasant afternoon, Lady Maggie.”

Maggie said goodbye and continued down the hall to her quarters.

Her room was immaculately tidy, as usual. Emmie always made sure everything was spotless. Maggie still struggled with the concept of having a maid, but Emmie was well paid, treated with respect, and proud of her role within the palace staff.

The maid had left a new blue dress on the end of the bed. Maggie had ordered it when she’d finally started being paid by Mistress Torwin for her work in the library. It was a royal blue in the skirt and long sleeves, with a darker blue fabric over the bodice. There was some cream lace around the neckline and cuffs. It was plainer than the noblewomen here generally wore, but it was sensible and serviceable and within her budget.

Maggie quickly changed into it and looked down at herself, pleased with the result.

 _Maybe I could wear this one on the date?_ She thought, with a rush of nervous anticipation.

She reattached her beautiful belt with the lazurite dagger in its sheath. Alistair had asked that she always wear it, hinting at some unspecified threat to the palace that was being investigated.

Maggie walked over to in the chest that contained her other clothes and personal items, knelt and started to rummage around. Things were placed differently than she remembered.  

_I usually leave those giant Fereldan sanitary pads on top of my clothes, not underneath where they would get squished and rumpled. Emmie must have moved something around, I’ll have to have a word with her._

Maggie shook her head. She shifted her items out of the way and touched her book from Earth. The Book gave her an odd feeling again. The not quite vibration sensation, almost buzzing but audibly silent.

“You aren’t in my plans for tonight. You can have a nice sleep under my clothes,” Maggie said to The Book. She frowned. “And don’t do anything else weird.”

 

***

 

“Alright Edith, time to continue this official Librarian Sex Research Plan. Perhaps the next part of this book will be an improvement. Call me a prude, but that section with the mango was a bit disturbing,” said Maggie, patting the ginger cat who was basking in a patch of early evening sun on one of the library couches.

Maggie picked up the library’s copy of _Swords and Shields_ and curled herself up comfortably in the corner of the couch.

 _“The rugged guardsman stood proud and strong upon the craggy shore_ ,” Maggie read aloud. _“A delicate and perfumed breeze flowed freely through the manly flowing locks of his hair. The turgid engorgement of his tumescent love shaft glowed in the moonlight, like a swollen sword begging him to sheathe into her passion-moistened depths.”_

“Wow, tumescent,” said Maggie. “That sounds disgusting. And like a painful side effect from an STI.”

She kept reading.

“Oh, how about this one, Edith? _He gazed into her big lyrium-blue eyes, pupils blown wide with passion. The guardsman roughly grasped her jaw and forced her head forward. He slid his rigid member all the way past the Knight-Captain’s rosy, pouting lips and down her gullet. She groaned in pleasure, as love’s sweet sweet arrow hit the back of her throat.”_

Maggie shuddered. “What the fuck, no. Hitting the back of her throat? Where’s her gag reflex? How is she not spewing on him right now? Edith, I’m yet again questioning my decision to read this.”

Edith opened one eye to look disdainfully at Maggie and went back to sleep.

“Okay fine, you’re right, this is important research. Well now, where were we? Um, _she sat back, ecstatic with her erotic handling of the manly guardsman,”_ Maggie continued reading to the indifferent cat. _“Her fiery red hair was tumbling free over her impossibly perky breasts. The milky pale round globes sitting high and proud on her delicate chest, her blushing nipples glowing with passion.”_

Maggie snorted, and tugged on the auburn braid of hair that was hanging over her shoulder. “Clearly no one in this world has suffered the ravages of gravity. And why are they always red heads? I don’t think people realise how much crap we get about it. ‘Why would anyone want to date a ranga?’ ‘Does the carpet match the drapes?’ ‘Did you realise you don’t have a soul?’ Honestly Edith, it’s not sexy at all.”

Edith stirred and sleepily climbed on to Maggie’s lap, kneading her thigh delicately then curling up into a fluffy ginger ball.

“It’s okay though, I reckon your fur is beautiful.”

She turned her attention back to the book. “ _The Knight-Captain’s skin pebbled under the guardsman’s brooding gaze. Her nipples stiffened as he watched her like the apex predator he was. Her rosy peaks looked hard enough to cut glass.”_

Maggie recoiled and instinctively crossed her arms over her own chest. “Ow. That just sounds… hard enough to cut glass? Ow.”

She took a moment to collect herself and scratch Edith under the chin.

“We can do this, Edith. For science,” she muttered.

 _“He thoroughly licked all the corners of her treasured pleasure box and she mindlessly screamed her ecstasy.”_ Maggie tipped her head back and laughed. “Treasured pleasure box. Okay that one is funny. Also gross. But funny.”

 Maggie flicked forward a few pages and continued. _“She reached her thundering climax eight times before he sheathed his mighty sword into her quivering shield,”_ she said, raising both her eyebrows. “Good lord, eight times? Eight! Is he using magic on her? Is that a thing here? Wow.”

She adjusted her leg slightly. Edith stirred again and scowled as her sleeping spot moved.

“You know what this is missing, Edith? Cheese. Or chocolate. A fortifying smut snack. Yum. Anyway. How about this part? _In a frenzy of simultaneous explosions, they met their blinding, pulsing moment of release together. Love’s sweet lava flowed into the fiery furnace of her damp, moist needy place._ Shit, that sounds painful and unpleasant. Lava flowing anywhere damp and needy? Just no,” said Maggie. Edith continued to sleep.

“Is it safe to ask what you are reading to my cat?” Alistair’s voice came from behind her.

Maggie shrieked and jumped off the couch, sending Edith flying. She whirled around, clutched the book to her chest and looked guiltily at Alistair. He was standing halfway between the library door and her couch, looking at her quizzically. Edith stalked over and wound around his legs, ostentatiously ignoring Maggie.

“Um,” said Maggie. She licked her lips. “This is actually a little embarrassing.”

He tilted his head to the side. “More embarrassing than getting caught reading an erotic novel to a cat?”

“Potentially,” said Maggie, defensively.

He bent down to pick Edith up. The fluffy cat nudged him under the chin and looked smug.

“I was just wondering.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Maggie forced herself to look at Alistair’s face. “I was thinking about the cultural differences between my world and here. So, I wanted to check about, um, intimacy here. And I couldn’t find any kind of How To guide. Which, by the way, surprises me given the amount of erotic herbology books and romance novels you have in this collection.”

Alistair looked both bewildered and slightly aroused. “Maker’s breath, you certainly have high expectations of this date.”

“No! No. I was, um, checking. For research. Just to see what kind of, ah, things, people do here. In, you know, bed. I thought about asking Roh this morning, but I’d never hear the end of it.”

He shuffled his feet and looked at her. “You could ask me.”

Maggie fidgeted. “Because that wouldn’t be awkward at all? You would describe to me how people usually have sex here?”

She sat down on the couch and frowned up at him.

His ears were pink. “Hmm. I see what you mean. Can I have a read?”

Maggie squeaked with awkward embarrassment. “Yes.”

He walked over and sat on the couch beside her, settling Edith on his lap.

Maggie handed him the book. She was very aware of his muscular thigh pressed up against hers. Alistair gave her a speculative look and started reading.

Not wanting to disturb his smut consumption, Maggie quietly fetched the most innocuous book she could find to read. She sat back beside him, curling her legs under herself with her knees against Alistair’s leg. She opened _Fereldan Tax Law For Beginners: Only Ten Easy Mathematical Theorems Between You And Fiscal Permanency_ and began to read.  

They read in silence, broken only by the occasional laugh and murmured “Maker’s breath,” from Alistair.

“Pi to the power of i bracket c, close bracket, equals v to the power of n, bracket g, close bracket plus pi. Again. This is well beyond my pay grade,” muttered Maggie.

Silence descended again.

Alistair suddenly sat forward, knocking an indignant Edith off his lap. His eyes narrowed in consideration. “I don’t… I don’t see how that would be physically possible.”

Maggie looked at him. “I’m afraid to ask?”

He motioned with his hand in the air, clearly trying to work something out. “Nope, not possible.” He grimaced. “These people are very bendy.”

“Oh, I think I know the bit you read. It made my spine hurt just thinking about it.”

Alistair hummed in agreement. Maggie began reading the tax book again, trying to find a section that made a little more sense.

Alistair sat up again. The blush had travelled from his ears to his cheeks. “By the Maker, eight times? In just the one, ah, session of wooing?”

Maggie looked at him. “So that’s not standard for here?”

He looked alarmed. “That does seem like a lot.”

“Okay good. That was the only part I was really concerned about.”

“The only part? You had no concerns about the part with the Rivaini mangoes and the candlemaker? Or that the Knight-Captain can bend that way?”

“Oh, I thought the mangoes were an allegory.”

There was a lengthy and awkward silence.

“Soooo, no pressure then?” said Alistair.

They both looked at each other’s red faces and started laughing.

She leaned against him. His face was very close to hers.

“No pressure, I’d never want you to feel like you had to do anything intimate,” she whispered, “I just wanted to make sure, if things got to that point, that I knew what to expect.”

He reared back a little, but smiled. “Now I’m concerned.”

“No! It’s okay, from what I read, things people do with each other are much the same in both worlds. Except, you know, real life is less gravity defying and prolific.”

“Well that’s a relief.” He cupped her chin and ran his thumb over her cheekbone.

Maggie rubbed her face against his hand and turned to kiss his palm.

“Hey! I thought the rule was we have a date first, then we kiss.”

Maggie leaned back and laughed. She stroked his face, curled up against his side and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Shall we read chastely then?” she said.

“Yes, so long as we can choose different books.”

Maggie laughed. “Sounds like a good idea.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I had a lot of fun writing the terrible smut from Swords and Shields! :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my sister [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for editing assistance and putting up with me endlessly fretting about this one!

Maggie gently placed the Fereldan cookery book on the bench and gave it a friendly push towards Cook.

“And it has recipes for all these different kinds of stew!” said Maggie, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster for stew. “I was wondering if we might start a recipe book collection down here, perhaps in an unused space in a pantry?”

The cook was an ancient human woman with iron grey hair pulled back into a severe bun, a voluminous white apron, and a large rolling pin attached to her belt. She gave Maggie a considering look. “Young King Alistair has insisted all the palace servants learn to read and write. A recipe book collection would mean they could use all those skills.”

Maggie grinned at her. “That would be great. I’ll search the collection and pick out a selection of volumes that might be useful. Let me see what I can do about ordering some general cookery books too.”

“Okay. I’ll accept that. None of those erotic cookery books though,” said Cook, detaching her rolling pin and waving it around the kitchen.  “I have enough trouble keeping the kitchen staff’s minds on the job, without any dubious literature in my kitchen.”

Maggie laughed. “I’ll make sure they are all wholesome and family friendly. I never knew there were so many erotic cookery books available here. The library has a very, um, robust collection.”

Cook shook her head. “Your predecessor was an unusual man.”

A commotion by the main door to the kitchen attracted the attention of both women and Maggie caught a glimpse of Alistair’s guards stationing themselves outside. Alistair himself came in briskly through the door, smiling warmly at her and Cook.

“I’ve prepared all your favourites, Your Majesty,” Cook said fondly to Alistair, gesturing to a large basket sitting on one a bench. “There’s cold pork pie, some freshly baked bread, apple tarts, and a cheese selection for dessert.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “Thank you, Cook.”

“Now, have you got enough snacks?” Cook handed Alistair a package and he slipped it into his pocket. “There’s those salted crackers you like and a small wheel of cheddar. I don’t like the thought of you going hungry.”

“With all this Pocket Cheese, Cook? There’s no danger of that,” he said, and turned, smiling, to Maggie. “Are you ready to go on our picnic? Have you got your dagger?”

Maggie patted the dagger on her hip. “I never thought I’d go armed to a date.”

He nodded approvingly. “Well, you need to be able to defend yourself.”

Maggie grinned. “That’s right, I’m a self-rescuing Princess.”

They bid Cook farewell and made their way towards the stables, Alistair carrying the picnic basket. Alistair had assumed his usual public bland expression once they were out of the kitchens. He was unusually quiet, and they started their walk through the palace in companionable silence. The nobles and servants alike stopped, saluted the King and stared openly at Maggie.

Maggie had never been so self-conscious. At Alistair’s suggestion she was wearing her training breeches and tunic rather than a dress for the date. Emmie had pulled the top part of her hair back off her face and braided it, but left the back loose so it looked a little fancy for her date.

Most of her interactions with Alistair had come within the safety and privacy of the library. She was unused to being with him in public and attracting stares. She felt like an exhibit at a zoo, being observed and discussed by curious onlookers.

“Is this weird?” she whispered to him as she noted a group of Orlesian nobles looking her up and down and engaging in furious discussion with each other.

He leaned his head towards her as they walked. “Is what weird?” he whispered in return.

“I don’t want us to be the target for gossip. I’m worried that they’ll think less of you for being seen like this with me.” Anxiety was building in Maggie’s chest. Things were easier in the library. There wasn’t an audience.

“Trust me, anything I do is the target of gossip. Besides, supposedly you’re an exotic Princess with a tragic tale of exile and adventure, are you not?” Alistair said in a low voice, smirking at Maggie.

Maggie laughed, then lowered her voice, her anxiety receding a little. “I suppose that puts us on a more equal footing.”

“In fact,” Alistair continued, “as a supposed Princess, technically you outrank all the nobles here.”

Maggie blinked. “I… huh. Perhaps I should remind your Uncle Eamon of that next time he looks at me like I’ll climb you like a tree every time we’re in the library.”

Alistair grinned. “You don’t want to know what he thinks we do in the library.”

Maggie snorted with amusement. “Maybe I do!”

The guards held the doors to the outside of the palace open for them.

Maggie stepped into the late afternoon sunshine first. They were at the back of the palace near the training grounds and the stables. Behind some bushes a short distance away she saw Roh. Her ever present ‘bodyguard’ Eliza was leaning against the palace wall, looking bored and picking at her nails. Maggie looked around for Alistair, who was saying something to one guard. Looking back to the bushes, Maggie saw Roh doing an enthusiastic thumbs up at her, and then a gesture where she repeatedly poked the index finger of her right hand through a circle made from the index finger and thumb of her left hand.

_So that’s the same in both worlds_ , Maggie thought, and laughed.

Alistair came through the doors and followed Maggie’s gaze to the bushes.

Roh smoothly pretended to be examining the leaves.

Alistair sighed. “I won’t ask,” he said.

Maggie grinned at him. “Best not to,” she agreed.

They walked over to the stables, the small cluster of guards trailing behind them.

Rory was there, chatting with the stableboy Mica.

Rory gave Alistair a brisk salute, and to Maggie’s surprise did the same thing to her.

“We’ve organised the horses, your majesty,” said Rory gruffly, “we’ve been sweeping the route, and it’s clear. We’ve got people stationed at various points to provide suitable coverage.”

“Good work, thank you Rory,” said Alistair.

“That’s quite an entourage we will have,” said Maggie uneasily.

“Don’t get your smalls in a bunch, lass, you won’t even see us,” said Rory.

“If my small clothes are in a bunch,” Maggie muttered darkly, “it’s because there is no elastic here.”  


***

 

Alistair wasn’t wearing his breastplate, only his leather coat and a linen shirt underneath. He had donned a hooded cloak and pulled the hood up to hide his face. The motion of the horse allowed her to feel every flex of his muscles as they rode out of Denerim, and it was a very different experience to last time. Maggie was conscious of her breasts pressed against Alistair's back and the feel of his breathing as she clung to him.

Last time they had only just met, and they had a layer of metal and polite reserve between them. Now friendship and affection had stripped that away.

They hadn’t thought this through. Perhaps this position was normal for this world, but being pressed up against Alistair’s back with her thighs on either side of his was very… diverting.

_On the plus side, at least I’m not in front of him and everything pressing together that would entail_ , she thought, _this is much less suggestive than that_.

Her face burning, she concentrated on the scenery to distract herself. They were just leaving Denerim proper, skirting the harbour district and heading towards the gate nearest to the ocean. With Alistair being unrecognisable in his cloak, people paid them no more mind than two travellers on horseback.

The guards nodded them through the gate and they rode along the rolling farmland that met the Amaranthine ocean. They stopped at the bottom of some small bluffs.

Alistair swung his leg over the head of the horse and slid gracefully to the ground. He held out his hand to Maggie, and she took it, swinging her own leg around and did what she hoped was a controlled fall into his arms. She imagined if they were in a romantic movie then it would involve a petite and beautiful heroine slipping off the horse elegantly into her lover’s arms. As it was, Alistair grunted a little when she collided with his chest and she stood on his foot.

“Sorry,” Maggie muttered.

He shifted her backwards to stand on her own. “Here we are. We can leave the horse here and it’s just a short walk to the spot.”

Maggie was sure her face must still be red. She took a deep breath to calm herself down. She looked closely at the nearby surroundings but couldn’t see any of the guards who were shadowing them.

Alistair noticed her looking. “I told you they’d be well hidden. It’s just this way. Careful where you step.”

Alistair had given the picnic basket to a guard to carry, and it was sitting on the ground nearby. Picking up the basket with one hand, he gently clasped her hand with the other and lead her through a small copse of trees. Maggie gasped as she noticed black and white birds hopping through the branches.

She jumped behind Alistair, instinctively clapping her hands over her head and crouching. “Bloody magpies,” she muttered, looking wildly around her, “is it swooping season here?”

Alistair squinted at the offending birds. “Um, those are just agu birds. They sit in the trees and sing, I’ve never heard of them attacking anyone.”

Maggie cautiously stood up and unclasped her head. “We had loads of magpies back in Sydney. Crazy buggers used to swoop us when we’d walk to school.”

Alistair frowned. “Did they hurt you?”

Maggie winced in remembrance. “Made my scalp bleed a few times. Getting swooped as an adult is scary enough, it’s terrifying as a kid. Swooping is bad.”

Alistair brightened. “Yes, swooping IS bad. No one ever believes me, but it is.”

Maggie cast a last, suspicious, glare at the agu birds. They reached the top of the small hill, where a large rug, weighted down with small rocks in the corners, had been arranged. They had a beautiful view of the ocean, with Denerim city in the distance to one side and farmland on the other. Some small islands on the water dotted the middle distance, the sea breaking around them. The sun was low in the sky, and wisps of pink were showing on the horizon.

Alistair placed the basket down and they sat on the rug, looking at each other.

The last ‘date’ she had been on was technically when she had sex with her ex-boyfriend in the ephemera section of the library stacks. Her boss had assigned her and Dylan to sort through historical theatre programs as part of an ongoing project. Instead they had ended up semi-naked and shagging frantically and uncomfortably on a pile of old postcards. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Very awkward afterwards, chatting to colleagues in the staff tearooms like nothing had happened.

Maggie snorted with involuntary amusement at the memory.

“Something funny?” Alistair enquired.

_Weird awkward sex with a previous boyfriend after we’d broken up. Really not something I want to think about right now. Thanks brain. Maybe time to concentrate on this situation? Picnic with the man I’m falling in love with?_

Maggie winced. “Ahh, nothing important. Shall we eat?”

_Ugh, real smooth. Margaret MacConnell: Champion Smooth Talker._

Alistair’s face lit up, and he pulled the picnic basket in front of himself, emptying it first of plates and goblets then the food and drink.

“Okay, here’s the bread and Cook has put butter in there too. She wrapped the pork pie in this red cloth,” he said, putting it on the rug, “and the apple tarts in this white cloth. Ohh and she’s included a Rivaini sauvignon-blanc. We’ve also got Val Royeaux brie, I know how much you like that one, some Blissful Blue Druffalo cheese from Starkhaven and some Redcliffe red cheddar. I used to have that one a lot as a boy growing up there, it’s crumbly so watch out for that.”

Maggie tore off the end of the bread and swiped it across the pat of pale, creamy butter. “This is wonderful, Cook did a great job.”

“She always likes feeding me,” said Alistair, cutting two large slices of the pork pie, putting one on a plate for Maggie and handing it to her. “She had an Uncle who was a Grey Warden when she was a child. He visited the family from time to time, so she has a good understanding about how much we need to eat.”

Maggie poured them each a goblet of wine. “Genitivi’s book about the Wardens mentioned you all need to eat large amounts of food, and had superior strength?”

Alistair nodded and swallowed his mouthful of pie. “Yes, the darkspawn taint in our blood gives us greater strength and stamina than normal people.”

Maggie cleared her throat. “Stamina. I see.”

Alistair blushed. “Not like that!” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Well okay, yes like that, but it’s more useful for fighting long battles and sleeping less than for thooooose other pursuits.”

Maggie huffed a laugh and sipped her wine. “Well. You know, in my world paparazzi would be mobbing us right now. They love royalty.”

Alistair looked at her over the rim of his wine goblet. “What are paparazzi?”

“They take and then sell pictures of royalty doing normal royal stuff. You know, riding horses, sunbathing topless, getting their toes sucked by their lover. Just the usual.” Maggie took a large bite of the pork pie, narrowing her eyes in pleasure at the chewy texture and intense savory flavour of the filling.

Alistair swirled the wine in his goblet then took another drink. “Maker’s breath. Sometimes I wonder about your world. Why would anyone draw pictures of that?”

“You mean except for in books, like a fair chunk of the collection in your palace library?”

Alistair looked rueful. “True.”

Maggie took another bite of pork pie. “This is much better than stew. Why are the usual palace dinners never this good?”

Alistair swallowed his mouthful before answering. “Tradition. I’m sure the older nobles would think Orlais was about to invade again if we ate anything that wasn’t grey or served in a bowl.”

Maggie smeared a small slice of the Blissful Blue Druffalo cheese onto a chunk of the bread. “Hopefully the recipe book collection I’m going to organise will help.”

Alistair’s mouth was full of pie, so he just nodded.

“Anyway, paparazzi aren’t drawing the pictures. It’s technology again. They use a device, called a camera, to take a still image of what they see. We call them photographs,” Maggie said, beaming at him. “They’d love you, the handsome and photogenic King of Fereldan.”

Alistair laughed. “I’d like to see your world. It sounds full of flying horseless carriages, dinosaurs, and people with excellent teeth.”

Maggie gestured with her goblet. “I wish we could see it together. I’d take you on the ferry across the harbour to Manly. Show you the amazing architecture of the Opera House and the Harbor Bridge. Even just show you my little apartment and some photographs of my family,” she said wistfully.

Alistair piled up his now empty plate with large chunks of cheese and handfuls of crackers. “Do you miss it?”

“I sometimes miss parts of it. The convenient stuff, like always having access to water for drinking or bathing. The variety of food was better too,” Maggie said, leaning over and stealing some cheddar from Alistair’s plate. “I miss my friends. But I don’t think about it much. I like it here. And I don’t miss it at all when I’m with you.”

Alistair took her hand.

“I regret not being able to show you more of Fereldan. I usually spend a lot of time travelling the kingdom, checking the ongoing rebuilding efforts. That’s mostly stopped since the explosion at the Conclave.” Alistair looked down at their joined hands. “I wonder, if you have to stay in this world, if you’d like to come with me. You know, next time I’m able to do that?”

“Of course I would. I’d love to explore more of this world with you. Once it’s safe to do so again.”

Alistair let go of her hand and leaned forward to cut them both a portion of the apple tart.

“I wish we could help the Inquisition more than we do,” he said, “But they have to stay politically neutral. Our world is facing an ancient magister who tried to raise a demon army. One who annihilated most of the southern Grey Wardens. Here I am, stuck in the wrong end of Fereldan, negotiating endlessly with Orlais, sparring with my guard captain, and being nice to self-important nobles.”

Maggie ate a mouthful of apple tart while she considered what to say. “You’ve participated in saving the world once. Perhaps that’s enough.”

“You don’t understand,” Alistair said flatly.

Maggie studied his face. “No, I don’t understand about saving the world. Literally, the most heroic thing I’ve ever done is rescue a bunch of fifteenth century manuscripts about cats. From a flooded air-conditioning vent. No one was likely to die. But I do know you have a kingdom to run.”

Alistair frowned at his slice of apple tart, but made a small noise of grudging agreement.

“And you aren’t evil or anything like that,” Maggie continued, “you haven’t cleared large swathes of Denerim for a stupid golden palace, and you haven’t set the Alienage on fire. I even still believe you when you say you don’t hold orgies in the throne room. You’re a good King. One who cares about being a decent and fair ruler.”

Alistair chewed his mouthful meditatively and stared at the offshore islands. “I’m really just an unwanted bastard, remember?” he said tightly, “The Warden-Commander just made me King because she didn’t like my half-brother’s widow, and there weren’t any other options.”

“You are not unwanted,” she said fiercely, “I want you.”

They both froze.

Maggie looked down, and blushed.

He shuffled closer to her on the rug, and put his arm around her shoulders. He leaned in to kiss the top of her head, just above her temple. “Thank you,” he whispered into her hair.

Maggie twisted her head around to look at him properly.

He had a lopsided smile and his hand moved up to softly cup the side of her face. Maggie heard her heart pounding in her ears and all she could do was stare into his amber brown eyes. For once, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“My beautiful Maggie,” he whispered, and leaned the rest of the way towards her, brushing her lips with his in a gentle kiss. He pulled back a little to look into her eyes. She lifted her hand up to the side of his neck, and kissed him back, moaning into his mouth as he tentatively ran his tongue along her lower lip. She answered in kind, and was rewarded with a low groan from the back of his throat.

Maggie ran her hand into the hair at the back of his head, and they deepened the kiss. He tasted of wine and apples. He still had his hand on her face, and he moved it back to run his calloused fingers over the shell of her ear and down her neck as they kissed.

She could hear the distant washing of the waves against the pebbles of the beach. She put her hand on his thigh and leaned towards him as he trailed his lips from her mouth to along her jaw and then down her neck.

Maggie moved so she was kneeling facing Alistair and leaned forward to put her arms around his shoulders. His arms went around her and rubbed gentle circles on her back. She kissed around the edge of his ear and he made an appreciative noise.

“How many guards are watching us right now,” she murmured into his ear, before nipping the lobe with her teeth.

His arms tightened a little, then he laughed into her shoulder. “A few.” He turned his head to kiss her neck again. “I’m sure Rory’s seeing more than he ever wanted to.”

Maggie laughed as well. “We should probably stop, lest I get overcome and have my wicked way with you right here and now.”

His hands drifted lower and moved to her hips. “Mmm, wicked way.”

Maggie wriggled backwards, then leaned forward to kiss him on the lips again. “We could sit here and see the sunset,” she whispered against his mouth.

She felt him smile.

“You aren’t making this easy,” he said, “in fact, I think I can hear Rory sobbing over there behind a bush.”

Maggie giggled and moved to sit beside him. He put his arm around her, so she leaned her head against his shoulder, and together they watched the sun set on the Amaranthine ocean. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True story - I live in a different state in Australia to where Maggie is from, but we still have swooping birds. Last year my oldest son's classroom access at school was cut off by nesting plover birds who would swoop the kids walking to class!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my sister [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for being on Comma Patrol! 
> 
> Trigger warning: very brief mention of infertility.

“That’s so romantic,” said Emmie dreamily, pulling more strands of Maggie’s hair into the complex braid.

“Yes, well, sunsets are nice,” Maggie said happily. “Everyone likes sunsets. Sunsets and picnics.”

“Queen Margaret Theirin, it has a nice ring to it.”

Maggie snorted. “That is many, many steps ahead of where we are, Emmie. Which reminds me, I had a question to ask about a, ah, personal matter.”

Emmie paused her braiding. “Witherstalk potion.”

Maggie turned to look back over her shoulder as best she could with Emmie holding handfuls of her hair. “Eh?”

“I assumed you were going to ask what we did here to prevent pregnancy? The answer is witherstalk potion.”

“Oh. Well yes, that was my question. It’s best to organise yourself for these things, just, um, just in case.”

Emmie patted Maggie on the shoulder. “I think it’s lovely, my lady. You are wonderful together. My old Mum makes the best witherstalk potions I know about, but she’d need to see you first. Are you free tomorrow morning to go to the Alienage?”

“Sure, that sounds, ah, good.”

 

***

 

Maggie dubiously eyed the three other people walking beside her and Emmie as they left the palace grounds the next morning. “I’m afraid to ask,” she said, “but why are you all really here?”

Rory threw a dagger straight up in the air and caught it neatly by the handle when it came back down. “The King is organising a bodyguard for you, girl, but he hasn’t found anyone suitable yet and he asked if I can step in for the morning.”

Maggie scowled. “Hold up. I need a bodyguard now? That seems excessive.”

Rory shrugged. “King’s orders. I’m the Royal Problem Solver. I solve the royal problems, so here we are.

“A royal problem, now am I?” Maggie’s voice was as dry as the Simpson Desert. “And you are an assassin. Are you planning on assassinating someone on our routine trip to purchase some routine potions?”

Rory looked into the distance, misty eyed. “After the Blight, when the King had recently gained the throne, I trained for a time under one of his friends, an ex-Antivan crow. He taught me an assassin needs to be flexible.” He paused briefly, lost in his memories again, then blushed. “Ah, an assassin needs to show flexibility in their duties. So here I am, a bodyguard for your routine trip to the Alienage. At least it’s only me on bodyguard duty, not a whole group.”

Roh grinned. “Bodyguards do come with certain benefits.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Eliza sighed audibly.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “I’m not planning on sleeping with my bodyguard, Roh.”

Roh grinned unrepentantly. “Ah yes, but if you’re going where I assume you’re going, after this morning you won’t need to worry about babies and can sleep with whomever you wish.”

Maggie looked at the two other human women. “Yes, why are you both here as well? How did you even find out about any of this?”

“The court was abuzz with the fact you were planning a trip to the Alienage,” said Roh. “We made the connection. Emmie’s Mum is legendary. No babies on her watch!”

“So you wanted to come and observe me getting a potion? Surely you’ve got something better to do?”

“Well I personally enjoy watching you pretend you don’t want to strip His Majesty naked and have your way with him right there in the library. And besides, the Alienage can be dangerous.” Roh patted the quiver of arrows on her back. “You should be fine with Emmie, and Rory is reasonably competent with his daggers…”

Rory made a rude noise.

“…but I thought with my excellent archery skills,” Roh continued blithely, “and Eliza’s incredibly sexy swordswomanship we’d keep you even safer.”

Maggie laughed, and shook her head ruefully. “Okay, you win. We can all go together, one big happy friendship group.”

The walk to the Alienage was uneventful. They accessed it by crossing a bridge, after passing though a guard post. The residents gave the humans some suspicious looks as they walked through the quarter, but they ignored the dwarven Rory and many people called greetings to Emmie. Maggie and Emmie walked together, the maid chattering excitedly as she pointed out areas of interest in her home. Rory, Eliza, and surprisingly Roh all kept their eyes steadily on the areas around them, looking out for potential trouble.

The tightly packed houses were tidy. The elves there looked healthy and purposeful, and the streets were clean.

“Many elves left Denerim after the Blight,” said Emmie, “because there were food shortages. The King had set up reconstruction efforts here, and schooling facilities and medical clinics, but those things only go so far when bellies are empty.”

“I remember that, I’ve lived in Denerim all my life,” said Eliza from behind them. “We all were hungry, and there were riots here in the Alienage.”

Emmie nodded sadly. “Things have improved since then, though it is still under-populated. Shianni has done a great deal of good as Elder.”

They came upon a huge oak tree in the middle of a square. Festive garlands decorated the lower half, and small candles sat around the bottom of the trunk.

Emmie grinned. “This is the vhenadahl. We elves grow them in our Alienages to remind us of our homeland Arlathan.”

“It’s wonderful,” Maggie said, looking up at the vast tree.

“And here we are at Mother’s clinic,” Emmie said, pointing at a building that had a sign with a bunch of what Maggie recognised as elfroot painted on the front.

Emmie’s mother was standing behind a counter labelling potion bottles when they walked in. She looked like an older version of her tiny, blonde daughter.

“Emmie! How nice to see you, my darling,” she said briskly, “and you are with an auburn-haired human female so I’m assuming you are Lady Maggie? I’m Vona, it’s lovely to meet you at last.” The elven woman held out her hand for Maggie to shake.

Maggie smiled as she took Vona’s hand. “Yes, I’m Maggie. And these other people are my friends. This is my temporary bodyguard Ser Rory, he’s the Royal Problem Solver. The dark-haired woman who looks like she is about to cause trouble is Roh and the sensible woman beside her is Eliza. She’s Roh’s ‘bodyguard’.” Maggie did air quotes. Eliza grinned.

Vona nodded to the others, then looked back to Maggie. “Now what can I do for you today?”

“We’re here because Maggie wants to fuck the King,” said Roh, smirking, “but without any little ginger babies afterwards.”

Maggie snorted a laugh. “I… okay, yes that is true, but…”

Vona’s eyebrow twitched a little, but she remained otherwise impassive. “Well, good for you, dear. Let’s see what we can find for you.”

Vona lead Maggie to a small room off the side, patiently waiting for Rory to check it. Maggie wasn’t sure what he was checking it for, presumably assassins stuffed into the medicine chests like a clown car, but he looked satisfied afterwards and left the ladies alone.

“What I wouldn’t give for a weighing scale big enough to weigh a person, that is also small enough to fit in this room. It’s a more accurate dose if I know how many bushels someone weighs.” Vona eyeballed Maggie and nodded. “But I can judge pretty well by eye after all these years.”

“I know my approximate weight in kilograms, but I’m not familiar with bushels.”

Vona frowned. “I’ve never heard of kilograms. A bushel equals two kennings,” she paused and looked enquiringly at Maggie, who shook her head, “or four pecks?”

Maggie looked blank.

“No? That’s fine, I’ve had no issues with my estimates.”

Vona busied herself weighing dried herbs on her small balance scale.

“I don’t pry into the business of people who come to me for assistance,” Vona paused in the middle of stirring a large flask of brown potion, “but if what your blunt friend says is correct, are you prepared for the consequences of a relationship with the King? He seems like a decent and kind person, but he is still who he is.”

 Maggie considered Vona’s words. “For Alistair, I’m prepared to accept any consequences.”

Emmie’s mother hummed an agreement, and decanted the mixture into some tiny bottles. “Very well. You need to drink one of these every day starting two days after your moon blood, until your next moon blood starts. Two days after it finishes, start again and so on.”

Maggie smiled at her. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”  

Vona’s eyes twinkled. “And good luck.”

 

***

 

Alistair’s hand was warm in hers as he led her… somewhere. Her eyes were shut tight, but she could tell they were somewhere outside the palace.

She felt his breath on her cheek as he leaned close to her.

“Are you peeking? Peeking is not allowed!”

“I’m not peeking! I’m trusting you not to let me fall over.”

Maggie could hear a distant yapping sound they were getting closer to. The breeze shifted and the smell of horse and hound wafted into her nose.

“The stables!” Maggie exclaimed, “Are we going on another ride?”

“No peeking!” said Alistair, with mock sternness.

“I’m not peeking. Your Majesty.”

“Ohh you don’t play fair. Her Royal Highness Princess Margaret of Spicellennium.”

Maggie laughed, and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, then let go and put that arm around her waist, taking her hand again with his other hand.

“We’re going inside now, I need to steer you so you don’t fall over,” Alistair said, very near her ear.

The yipping was loud now, and they seemed to stop right in front of it.

“Okay, open your eyes!”

Maggie’s eyes flew open. They were standing in front of a pen in the stables. The pen held eight furry creatures, what Maggie recognised from her time in Thedas as Mabari puppies.

She gasped, then started laughing. “A surprise puppy visit? Okay yes, puppies are the best surprise.”

The puppies had noticed them, and were crowded around the gate, yapping happily.

Alistair swung open the top half of the gate. The bottom half was just over knee height on Maggie.

“Can you manage stepping over that?” enquired Alistair, “If you need, I can lif…”

His voice trailed off as Maggie unceremoniously hitched the skirts of her dress up to mid-thigh, revealing bare legs. Maggie grinned over her shoulder at him as she stepped over the gate into the puppy pen.

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair said, looking hurriedly away from Maggie’s legs and up at the roof. His ears were very red.

Maggie dropped her skirts back down, causing several of the puppies to throw themselves at her legs, thinking it was a game. She giggled in delight, then carefully sat on the low bench at the side of the pen. She looked up to see Alistair cautiously picking his way through the puppies, beaming as they hurled themselves at his legs and at each other. He sat close beside her on the bench, and they both leaned forward to play with the puppies.

“I love visiting the Mabari puppies when we have them,” said Alistair, tickling the ears of one of the pups.  “I had to sleep with the hounds a lot as a child, but actually it was nice. Lovely and warm. Much warmer than the reception I got from Eamon’s wife, anyway.”

Maggie shook her head. “Mum taught me to use my words and not violence to solve problems, but Eamon’s wife is someone I’d very much like to punch. What kind of terrible person treats an innocent child like that?”

Alistair shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Isolde stays down in Redcliffe with Eamon’s brother Arl Teagan. I hardly ever see her.”

Maggie picked up the puppy who had been trying to climb up her skirts. The little female pup rolled onto her back and Maggie rubbed her squirming belly. “Even if you had been Eamon’s bastard, that was no excuse.”

Alistair held out his clenched fist for the puppies to gnaw on. “Speaking of Eamon, I used to come here a lot when I first became King. The stablemaster would let me hide from him here with the puppies.”

Maggie kissed the nose of the puppy on her lap, who was standing up and looking at her, wriggling her bottom with excitement. “Why don’t you have a Mabari as a companion? They are on your House crest after all.”

There was a scrabbling sound behind them, as the large ginger figure of Edith clawed her way onto one of the posts surrounding the pen.  She perched on it and regarded them with thinly veiled feline contempt, looking like a disapproving fluffy gargoyle.

Alistair made a kissy face at Edith. “Someone has already claimed me. Haven’t you, my fluffy ginger goddess?”

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Holy shit. How does she always know where you are? Does she think she’s your cat wife?”

Alistair snorted. “She bosses me around like one.”

Maggie laughed and nudged him with her shoulder. “Oh, you poor man.”

Alistair nudged her back. “Would this be okay?”

Maggie held the squirming pup in her lap, giggling as the little pink tongue licked her chin. “Would what be okay?”

“Would this be okay for a date in your world?”

“Is visiting a bunch of adorable puppies an okay date? Are you kidding? There is no situation in which visiting puppies wouldn’t be the best thing ever.”

“Okay good.” Alistair sounded relieved. “I want to court you properly, the way you’d expect.”

Maggie looked at him. “Alistair, spending time with you is enough. You don’t need to impress me. I’d be happy with anything we do, so long as I can do it with you. Maybe eat cheese at the same time as an added bonus. And picnics and puppies? That’s icing on the cake.”

He nodded slowly, eyes on the puppies.

Maggie poked her toe around the straw that was on the floor. It was clearly fresh, so she kissed the top of her lap-puppy’s head and placed her down with her littermates. Maggie gathered her skirts with one hand, then slid down to sit cross legged on the floor. Tiny Mabari immediately bombarded her. She laughed helplessly at their antics as they clambered over each other to scramble on to her lap. She shuffled sideways a little to lean her back against Alistair’s leg, and she felt him began to stroke the back of her hair.

_This has got to be the happiest I’ve ever been,_ she thought _, there nowhere on any world I’d rather be and no one I’d rather be with._

“Maggie, about your trip to the Alienage today…” said Alistair, sounding cautious.

_Uh oh._

Maggie twisted around to frown at Alistair. “Wait, do you know why I went? Did you send Rory as a spy?”

“By the Maker, Maggie, of course he wasn’t a spy. He hasn’t said anything about why you were there, and I didn’t ask.” Alistair’s voice was gentle. “I can venture a guess though, given you took your maid with you. Her mother is very well known.”

Maggie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, everyone keeps saying that. The entire world seems to know why I went to the Alienage.”

“People are interested in what you do, Maggie. There will always be speculation about everything you do now. Count yourself lucky we don’t have those, what did you call them, paparazzi, here.”

Maggie picked up a puppy to hug for comfort. “How private are we here?”

“It’s similar to the picnic. The guards are nearby but they wouldn’t hear us unless we raise our voices.”

Alistair shifted to sit on the ground beside Maggie. The swarming puppies who couldn’t fit on Maggie’s lap instead covered his.

“Alright. I just…. surely we can try to keep some things private.”

Alistair reached over to take Maggie’s hand where it was resting on top of the puppy pile. “Of course we can, as much as possible.”

“Well. You said there was a very small chance you could have children, not that there was no chance.” She shrugged. “In my experience it’s sensible to be covered as much as possible and not leave anything to chance.”

“Okay, but would you mind if we wait until I get back from Jader? I don’t want to get involved, um, like that and then have to go away and leave you here for Maker knows how long.”

Maggie leaned forward to look at him, dislodging several yelping puppies. “Oh god, I can wait however long you need. No pressure. It’s fine, I just wanted to be as prepared as possible. That’s… normal for where I’m from.”

“Maggie, I would have you right here, right now,” Alistair said, giving her a small smile. “It’s not that. When we spend the night together, I want it to be special. I want to give you the attention you deserve, and I can’t do that until after the meetings at Jader. When the Orlesians stop delaying it, anyway.”

Maggie nodded and looked around at the pen they were sitting in, and the puppies gambolling in front of them. “Right here, right now?” she said, grinning.

One of the puppies ran into Alistair’s knee, headbutting him. “Okay maybe not here. Maaaaaybe that lovely tack room over there.”

Maggie laughed. “You certainly know how to woo a lady.”

The little female puppy from earlier clambered back up on Maggie’s lap. She had a brindle coat, mostly tan with streaks of red, a white patch on her chest and black-tipped ears. Maggie scratched her ears, and the pup barked happily.

“The Inquisition has had to delay too, yeah?” said Maggie.

“Yes, they’ll probably come when I’m in Jader, knowing my luck. I was looking forward to more compliments about my hair from Dorian,” Alistair said, and chuckled.

“To be honest, I’ve been thinking about my book from Earth.” Maggie paused. “I don’t want to go back there. I want to stay here. If you’ll have me.”

Alistair looked at her for a long moment, then cupped her face and leaned over to kiss her. They’d kissed a few times since the picnic, stolen moments in between Alistair’s diplomatic preparations for the peace talks and Maggie’s training and duties in the library. This kiss was different though, more urgent and passionate. When he pulled back to rest his forehead against hers, they were both breathing heavily. The pup on Maggie’s lap sniffed their chins.

“I need you to keep researching it,” he said softly.

Maggie caught her breath and sat back suddenly, a sick feeling in her stomach.

“You don’t want me to stay,” she said dully.

Alistair’s eyes became wide. “Maker, no, it’s not that. I would be the happiest man in Thedas if you stayed here. But,” he hesitated, grimacing. “What if the Inquisition fails? If Corypheus comes to power the world will fall and there will be nothing here but death and pain. I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d trapped you here. At least if you are aware how the book works, you can go back to your world if the worst happens.”

Maggie frowned. “Like a get out of jail free card.”

“If I knew what that was, then yes, that does sound correct.”

Maggie patted the puppy on her lap again and nodded. “I’ll keep studying The Book. But I won’t need to use it.”

Another wave of puppies rocked Alistair back, all competing to lick his face. He looked over at Maggie, and the little female pup who was staring into her eyes. He started to laugh.

“She’s imprinted on you,” he said, beaming at them.

Maggie gave the puppy a cuddle. “What do you mean?”

“That’s why I don’t have a Mabari of my own. They pick their owners. She’s picked you. You and this little puppy belong to each other now.” Alistair reached over to pat the pup, “good choice little one.”

“Wait, just like that? Suddenly I have a dog?”

“Just like that. She’ll need training, but it’s a great honour to have a Mabari. You’ll have to think of a name.”

Maggie regarded the pup, who looked solemnly back at her.

“Buffy.”

“Buffy?” said Alistair sceptically.

“Buffy,” said Maggie firmly. “Buffy is the main character in some… stories… from Earth. She fights vampires and helps people. Buffy is an excellent name for a Mabari.”

“Well, fighting vampires and helping people is certainly a worthy goal. Buffy it is. Are you ready to say goodbye to our puppy friends and head back to the palace? We can stop and get some provisions for Buffy and set up her training with the stablemaster on the way.”

“Okay.” Maggie gave Buffy’s brothers and sisters their final pats, then stood up with the puppy in her arms. Alistair stood up too, and put his arms around her.

Maggie stood on her tiptoes and kissed him tenderly, Buffy wriggling in her arms between them.

“Thank you for a perfect date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Edith jumps up above Maggie and Alistair, I think she looked like the cat in this meme :D
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/159497572@N07/31768249998/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my little sis [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for reading this over for me!
> 
> Trigger warning: mention of infertility.

Maggie clutched the top of the ladder and leaned over to pluck out another misshelved book. “Did you realise you had so many of these erotic cookbooks? And someone scattered them all over the collection. Like this one,” she said, waving a small volume at Alistair, “someone put _Fifty Shades of Bacon_ with a bunch of mathematical treatises.”

Alistair looked up from his notes. “You may not believe me, but I don’t make a habit of scouring the collection for all the obscene books Former Royal Librarian Hubert obtained.”

“Technically, you own all of those books.” Maggie paused, scanning another shelf. “And we’ve all been missing out on a treat. Oh, here’s one that’s relevant to you, _Spicy Sects: How to Cook Chantry Sanctioned Delights_. Did they teach you to cook during your Chantry education?”

“Yes, though nothing as interesting as what I imagine that cookbook contains. Fifty shades of stew, mostly.” He carefully shifted Edith from where she was sleeping on some of his notes. Maggie could see where Buffy was still sleeping at his feet, exhausted from a morning spent training in the palace grounds.  

Maggie put the two books under her arm and climbed down the ladder, adding them to the pile on the table. She moved the ladder to the next shelving unit and climbed back up, holding her skirts out of the way.

“Can you cook?” Alistair asked.

“I lived by myself in Sydney, so I had to. It was easier than here though, we had shops where we could buy all the food we needed in one place and a lot of the stuff was pre-cooked and pre-prepared for convenience.” Maggie squinted at the shelf, selecting another book from amongst some natural history volumes. “ _Handling A Nutcracker: The Shelling and Preparation of Delicate Nuts_. Oh dear, you probably don’t want to see these pictures.”

Alistair winced. “Maker’s breath. Where did he find these books?”

Maggie leaned down to drop _Handling A Nutcracker_ onto the floor at the base of the ladder, then resumed her search. “Very specialised book dealers I’d imagine. Oh, here we go, these seem less dodgy. There’s a whole section here about meat. Actual meat.”

Maggie pulled out a handful of books and rested them on the top of the ladder, so she could get a better look.

“ _Kraken Steak_ and _Grilled Meats of Ferelden_ I can add to the pile for Cook. What’s this one? _Volo’s Guide to Cabbage and Spit Roast_ , that looks okay…” Maggie opened it, and snorted. “Dear me, no, that’s on the porn pile. _Gilmore’s Glorious Gravy: A Guide to Good Meat,_ and oh, it’s got a unicorn on the front. How lovely. Wait, do you guys eat unicorns?”

Alistair looked up from his writing again. “Only in Orlais. They are a bit funny over there.”

“Oh. Never mind anyway, _Gilmore’s_ is erotic too. And let me tell you, that is quite a horn. And here we have _Bertha’s Bountiful Boning_ , which, to the surprise of no-one, is not about butchery.”

“By the Maker, Edith.” Alistair picked up Edith, who had been trying to eat his quill. Maggie watched as he put her down beside Buffy, who was still sleeping, with occasional foot twitches to show she was dreaming. “Why don’t you sit here with your new friend?”

Edith gave the puppy a glare of pure disgust and stalked off.

Maggie moved the new piles of books to the table, then resumed her search. One volume caught her eye immediately. “Alistair! I have just the thing for you!”

Alistair paused in his quill repair efforts. “I’m a little afraid to ask…”

“ _Fork me!_ ” Maggie declared, dramatically.

“Pardon?”

“ _Fork Me: A Guide to Orlesian Etiquette_. This is perfect for those lonely nights at the Jader peace talks.” Maggie passed him the book. It had large gilt lettering and a picture of a woman’s lips, wrapped around a silver fork, on the front.

Alistair looked inside the book and blushed. “You’re a very bad influence on me, you know that?”

Maggie grinned and kissed the top of his head affectionately.  

She walked back to the ladder and pushed it to the next section.

“I should have worn pants for this job. These pretty dresses make me feel very girly, but they aren’t practical for actual movement.”

“It’s because you’re dressed like a noblewoman. Noblewomen aren’t supposed to be climbing ladders, they are supposed to be doing needlework and eating small cakes.”

“And seducing you?”

Alistair sighed. “And seducing me.”

“Anyway, Roh usually wears a dress, and it never seems to hamper her. She must have some kind of noblewoman super power that I’m missing.”

“Lady Rohlessa makes her own rules, remember?”

“Yes, that’s true. Oh hey, _The Joy of Eggs_. Wow, those chefs have so much facial hair.”

Alistair snorted, and started jotting notes in the margins of one of his reference books.

Maggie pulled out several volumes on breadmaking techniques.

“There’s a whole legitimate baking section here. Cook will be happy. Oh lovely, and right in the middle of that we have _Nailing the Vine: Viticulture for Beginners_. Hmm. You’d think it’d be too cold here for naked wine making.”

“Probably Orlesian again,” Alistair murmured absently, flicking through his book.

Maggie climbed down the ladder and investigated one of the lower shelves.

“And here we have the queen of books, _Seeking the Pearl: Oyster Preparation for the Moderately Experienced._ ” Maggie opened the book to a random page and examined the illustrations. “Oh wow. Oh. Wow. Okay, that is thorough. I might have to show this to Roh. It’s certainly, um, relevant to her interests.”

Alistair looked up from his diplomatic preparation, his curiosity piqued. “Here, I’ll take a look at that one. Doubtless I’ll need some light reading material for the meeting I need to go to.”

“Wait a minute there, now who is the bad influence!”

Alistair gave her a winning smile and held his hand out.

Maggie shrieked and hid her face behind the book, snickering. “No way! I can’t just give you a book about… that. That is way too embarrassing.”

Alistair assumed an expression of innocence. “I don’t know what wicked things you’re imagining, but I, for one, would like to prepare some delicious oysters.”

Maggie bent over, cackling with laughter. “You are an awful man!”

“What? Why do you librarians have such filthy minds? I simply wanted to read a completely reasonable book about pearl hunting and bivalve related cuisine.” Alistair stood up and advanced towards her, still with an innocent grin on his face.

Maggie, breathless with laughter, took off at a run, clutching the book to her chest.

Alistair moved quickly for a large man, and he wasn’t hampered by a dress like Maggie, so he darted towards her and scooped her against him.

He pulled her to his chest with her hands, clutching the book, trapped between them. Maggie was still giggling.

She let go of the book and wiggled her arms so they were around his neck, then stood on her tiptoes so she could kiss him. He kissed her back with his usual enthusiasm, then snaked his hand between their bodies to retrieve the book.

Alistair grinned triumphantly. “I have it! You can’t distract me with your tricksy womanly wiles!”

Maggie kissed the side of his jaw. “Fine! I hope you have a quality reading experience with it.”

“Thank you, I shall. I’m very fond of pearls.”

She dissolved into giggles again, burying her face against his shoulder.

“Go to your meeting, you terrible man. Don’t let Eamon discover your saucy reading material. I’ll see you tonight. Do we get to kiss with a hidden entourage of guards again?”

“We can probably manage more privacy where we are going. You’ll need to find a puppy sitter though, it’s not the best location for Buffy.”

“I’m on it. Buffy’s Aunt Roh and Aunt Eliza are planning to spoil her rotten for the evening.”

 

***

 

“And that one, with the two really bright stars and the other little stars?” Alistair said as he pointed up, “that’s the noble Mabari. Just like little Buffy.”

“You’re shitting me.” Maggie looked at Alistair instead of at the stars.

“That’s a terrible saying. But if you mean am I joking, then I am not.” He paused, looking shifty. “Well, I call it the Mabari. Not sure what its official name is. But I’m the King so I must be right.”

Maggie laughed. “Oh, it’s like that is it. Well since you’re the King, could you name one after me?”

Alistair squinted at the sky. “Hmm, let’s see. How about that cluster just above the ocean over there?”

He gently turned Maggie’s head, so she was looking in the right direction.

“It looks like a feisty yet compellingly beautiful woman holding a rock, ready to throw it at a terror demon. I shall call it ‘the fierce librarian’,” Alistair said, reaching down and taking her hand.

Maggie squinted at it. “It definitely looks like a miscellaneous cluster of stars.”

“Yes, but…”

“But you’re the King so you’re allowed to make up constellations,” Maggie said, squeezing his hand and laughing again.

Alistair cut himself a slice of Nevarran Rauchkäse cheese using his free hand and waggled the cheese knife at her. “There has to be some perks to the job. Other than unlimited cheese.”

Maggie regarded their rooftop picnic, and leaned down to pull off a hunk of her favourite Halla milk Havarti with her fingers.

“You do get that wonderful tub in your amazing private bathing area,” she pointed out. “Which includes actual privacy and the ability to bathe without an audience.”

He grinned wickedly at her, his face bathed in moonlight. “Maybe you should let me know next time you’re heading down to the communal palace baths and I’ll join you?”

Maggie giggled. “Can you imagine the riot that would cause? All those well-born ladies stampeding to view the royal, ah, credentials…”

Alistair laughed. Maggie tilted her head up for a kiss and leaned towards him. As their lips brushed she heard a new voice.

“I’ve had the chance to see the royal equipment, as it happens, and those noble ladies would unquestionably be in for a treat.”

Alistair had jumped to his feet at the first words and he paused, looking at the dark shape crouched on the edge of the palace roof. “Zevran? Is that you?”

“Seeing what was under all that armour was certainly a highlight of our travels during the Blight,” said the new voice and the dark shape stood to reveal the slim form of an elf. He gave a deep bow.

The elf, Zevran, was about Maggie’s height, about a head shorter than Alistair. His hair was pale in the light of the two moons and partially braided in what Maggie recognised from Emmie’s handiwork as being a traditional elvish style. He gave them both a grin.

“My apologies for interrupting your romantic tryst. It was vital we spoke to you alone. The guards will awake shortly.”

Alistair groaned. “You poisoned my guards?”

“Just a simple sleeping draught. Our conversation with you should take but a moment.”

Alistair tensed up. “Maker’s breath, she’s here. I can sense the presence of another Warden. I should have noticed earlier, but I was… distracted.”

Zevran leaned over the side of the roof and whistled a bird call. There was an answering call from below.

“My dear Warden shall be here momentarily,” he said silkily.

Maggie looked at Alistair. His face had gone smooth and regal, and he stood up straighter in what she thought of as King-mode. On the cusp of a kiss, and his ex-girlfriend was about to show up.

_This is not the date I expected_ , Maggie thought ruefully.

A head appeared in the direction that Zevran was looking, and the Hero of Ferelden swung herself up onto the roof and stalked over to them.

“Warden Commander,” Alistair said, stiffly. “You are looking well.”

In the moonlight, Maggie could see that the woman was indeed a dwarf, only coming up to around her own chest height. She had a halo of dark curly hair, a large blocky tattoo on her right cheek, and, like her elven friend, was wearing dark leathers with a dagger on each hip.

“King Alistair.” The Warden Commander saluted with her fist across her chest, and Alistair did the same.

Zevran sauntered over to stand beside the newcomer. “I’m afraid this is not a social call, Your Majesty. In fact, we have grave news concerning the Venatori.”

The dwarven woman looked meaningfully at Maggie, who was trying to look inconspicuous behind Alistair. “Perhaps we should go somewhere private, Your Majesty, or perhaps your lady friend might wish to retire somewhere more congenial.”

Alistair looked surprised to see Maggie still there. “Oh. Natia Brosca, Zevran Arainai, this is Maggie MacConnell.”

In that moment, Maggie had never felt more flabby and ordinary. The three other people on the roof all looked like comic book superheroes. She was acutely aware she looked like someone with a desk job who had a penchant for cheese, even with all the recent early morning training sessions.

_I bet Alistair’s fucking gorgeous ex could bloody bench-press me. She’s like someone from the cover of Sport’s Illustrated, but composed entirely of rage and superhero strength. And she hangs out with a sexy elf sidekick. Because of course she does._

Natia fixed a flat gaze on Maggie, who was still standing awkwardly with Alistair. “So you’ve finally got yourself a nice human woman. Where did Eamon find this one? Paragon’s arse, look at those hips though, at least she’ll be a good breeder.”

Maggie started. “I’m sorry, what?” she said, taken aback by the dwarf’s words.

Alistair shook his head. “Natia, don’t do this.”

Natia ignored them. “I don’t recognise her accent. Somewhere in the Free Marches? No matter, you don’t need her to speak, just pop out endless fat little Theirin babies.”

Zevran looked at Natia and frowned. “This does you no credit, my Warden.”

Anger flashed in Maggie’s chest, and she instinctively put her hand on the hilt of her dagger. Natia looked amused and tilted her head to the side, watching Maggie’s every move with narrowed eyes. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Alistair’s body getting even more tense.

_Hang on. What am I doing? I want to fight her just because she said something bitchy about me, the new girlfriend of the guy that broke her heart? Imagine how shit I would feel about getting dumped for being the wrong fucking species and unable to have kids?_ she thought.

Maggie took a deep breath, to calm herself. “I’m too old,” she said firmly.

There was a loaded pause. Natia blinked.

_Throw words at her. That is my Librarian Superpower._

Maggie shrugged. “I’m too old. Much of the state of development in Ferelden is analogous to where I’m from, but several hundred years ago. Back then, brides married with the intention of producing hordes of royal babies were generally in their teens. This meant more fertile years available before their bodies gave out and they died in childbirth. I’m twenty-eight so that’s only seven or so more years of decent fertility and probably at most seventeen years of potential fertility.”

Alistair was looking at her with a stunned expression, his mouth slightly open. Natia looked speculative.

_More words!_

Maggie assumed a lecturing tone. “For example, the wife of Edward the Second of England, Isabella, was only twelve when she married him, and had her first child at about seventeen. Though it turned out Edward was gay, which is fine, but kind of a dick about it, which is not, and she eventually had him murdered. Incidentally, she was known as the She-wolf of France, a nickname I’ve always admired. Oh, and Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry the Sixth, also of England, was only thirteen when she had him. Though the birth fucked up her insides, so she never had any more kids.”

_All the words._

Maggie took another deep breath. “I mean, to be fair, I don’t know what your obstetric medicine is like. That potion they gave me when I first came here healed my ankle right up, so maybe there is something like that, but for lady parts? And I hear that mages can heal, though I haven’t met one yet. Magic sounds very exciting, though people seem weird about it. Anyway, it just doesn’t seem likely that Alistair is interested in me for my uterus. Even if you disregard the age factor, I don’t have any family connections and I do have the motherlode of contraceptive potions currently sitting in a crate in the corner of my bedroom. So. Now that that’s settled, can we please discuss whatever important matter was worth knocking out Alistair’s poor guards for?”

There was another lengthy pause.

Zevran broke the silence. He looked impressed. “You are very odd, but I think I like you. I can see why you and my royal friend here get along so well.”

Alistair’s face had become a complex mixture of emotions, primarily what Maggie thought looked like pride. His lips twitched into a tight smile as he looked at her, then he resumed his more neutral Kingly expression as he turned back to the others.

Natia shook herself slightly, looking at Maggie with a somewhat poleaxed expression. “You are right, there are more pressing matters at hand than my past anger.” She paused, and sighed, “I apologise for what I said to you, Lady Maggie. My anger got the better of me.”

Maggie shrugged again. “It’s okay. Past relationships can be a rage inducing clusterfuck.”

Alistair made a small noise at the back of his throat.

Zevran started to laugh, which he covered with a discreet cough into his hand.

Natia smiled wryly. “Indeed. Now, the Venatori. You reported a potential infiltration of the palace to the Inquisition?”

“I did,” Alistair said. “We still haven’t managed to sniff out the spies yet.”

“Well, just after we came out of the Deep Roads and I sent you the note about the potential taint cure, Leliana contacted me. Paragons only know how she knew where I was. She thought you could use my help in tracking them down. I sent the pure taint samples off to Avernus to work on and came straight here.”

“And I spent all that time here when you first became King, which has given me an intimate knowledge of your palace.” Zevran paused and raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, is that remarkable dwarven assassin still in your employ? Rory, his name was.”

“He is,” Alistair said. “But I thought you and Natia were…?”

The elf put his arm around Natia’s shoulders. “We are. It’s always good to share, my King.”

Alistair visibly winced. “Maker’s breath.”

Natia coughed something that sounded like the name ‘Isabela’. “Anyway,” the dwarven woman continued, “we’ll start our investigations.”

“Do you need rooms here?” Maggie asked, “I could run down to Mistress Torwin if so.”

Zevran shook his head. “No, better no one knows about us until we know who the Venatori infiltrators are. Don’t tell the guards you know what knocked them out, just let them investigate.”

Alistair nodded. “Alright. What do you need me to do?”

“Just go about your business as usual.” Natia nodded at the sword on Alistair’s hip. “Remain armed at all times. It shouldn’t take us long to flush them out.”

Zevran took Maggie’s hand and kissed the back of it. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Maggie. And wonderful as always to see you, my King.”

“And you, Zev,” said Alistair.

Maggie smiled. “It was, ah, nice meeting both of you.”

Natia nodded briskly, and saluted them.

The rogues both walked away without a second glance and vaulted off the edge of the palace roof.

“Did you see that? That didn’t look safe,” whispered Maggie.

Alistair let out a breath and sagged slightly. He folded Maggie into a hug. “I’m proud of you for using your many, mostly confusing, but very effective words. I’m sorry though, I need to see Eamon about this issue and our unexpected visitors.”

She stood on tip-toe to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. “You go and be Kingly, I’ll prepare the books to deliver to Cook tomorrow.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for the editing help! :D
> 
> Trigger warning: mentions of blood.

Maggie sipped her tea thoughtfully. “So, the axionic Fade pressures react to the magical confluence.”

Delia nodded, stirring a lump of sugar into her own cup of tea. “And?”

Maggie shut her eyes in concentration. “And the parabolic arc of the multiphasic energy is circuitous to the types of magic.”

Delia smiled. “Yes, that’s good,” she said in her soft voice. “Do you understand now?”

_Fuck no. Not even slightly._

“Well, I certainly know more than I did,” Maggie hedged. “I really appreciate your enthusiasm for the subject, Delia. You have a true passion for, um, Fade ocular dynamics.”

“Thank you. Fade dynamics can suffer from a reverse polarity in the magical gradient, but I do try to keep on top of any theories about that.”

Maggie nodded and smiled. “Biscuit?” she said, tilting the plate of dainty biscuits so Delia could see the selection.

Buffy stuck her head out from under the library table and gave a happy bark.

Delia smiled at the puppy. “And the tiny Mabari is awake. Greetings little one.”

Buffy sat down beside Maggie’s leg, panting and watching Delia.

Delia leaned down and wiggled her fingers at Buffy. The puppy cocked her head to the side, but didn’t approach.

“Do you want a snack, baby girl?” Maggie said to Buffy.

Buffy barked once in affirmation, and Maggie passed her a strip of druffalo jerky from the bag she’d taken to keeping close by. The puppy flopped to the ground, happily chewing on her treat.

“She already understands most of what I say, I can’t believe how intelligent she is.”

Delia nodded. “All Mabari have a touch of the Fade about them. A halo of magical microfilaments influenced by the perpetual variance in the temporal alignments.”

“Y… yes. Yes, okay, that seems reasonable.”

Delia sat up straighter and seemed to be listening for something. “Oh! The sister has been approaching and is now moving again. Only a few days to go now.” She gave Maggie a brilliant smile. “Thank you very much for the tea and the pleasure of your company, Lady Maggie. I shall see you soon.”

“Your sister is coming? How wonderful, Delia,” Maggie said, encouragingly. “I’d love to meet her when she’s here. How long is she staying?”

Delia stood up and patted Maggie’s hand. “You will most assuredly meet the sister.” She gathered up the volumes she was borrowing for her studies and smiled farewell to Maggie and Buffy.

“Ahh, see you later Delia,” Maggie said, waving at Delia as she left the library.

Maggie looked at Buffy when they were alone.

“What do you think girl? The sister thing was a bit weird.”

Buffy barked once.

“I don’t want to judge her for being socially awkward though.” Maggie frowned at the library door. “I mean, I’m only in this world because I didn’t want to attend that stupid Spice Girls millennium party.”

Buffy tilted her head and regarded Maggie unblinkingly.

“Yeah I know,” said Maggie. “What if Alistair is right, and Delia is a mage? And she has a sister who is also a mage? And that’s why she could sense her sister moving?”

Buffy whined.

“Yeah me neither. Do you want more jerky?”

Buffy barked once and panted happily.

Maggie retrieved another strip of jerky and passed it to the puppy. “Here you go. Good girl!”

Maggie stood up and stretched, then walked over to the pile of cookbooks she’d organised to take down to the kitchen. She started to load up the book trolley, but looked up as someone flung the library doors open.

Eliza ran in, looking flushed and sweaty.

“Have you seen Delia?” Eliza asked, leaning against a bookcase to catch her breath.

Maggie frowned. “She just left. What’s wrong?”

Eliza scowled. “Shit. The city guard found Former Royal Librarian Hubert’s body. We need to break the news to Delia.”

Maggie gasped. “That’s awful. What happened?”

Eliza shook her head. “I don’t know. One of my friends in the guard asked me to find her and tell her. We’re friends.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, I find some of her theories on Fade Confluence quite interesting.”

Maggie blinked. “Oh, ah, okay.”

Roh walked in the room at a more sedate pace than her girlfriend. She looked downcast. “Hello Maggie. Maker’s balls, isn’t it sad news about Hubert?”

“Yeah it is,” Maggie said.  “I never met him, but he sounded like quite a character.”

Roh flopped down into a chair. “He was a decent man. He just wanted to live his life and fuck everyone he met. Literally. It was quite a noble goal, really.”

“We need to search for her, Roh.” Eliza poked Roh in the shoulder. The noblewoman sighed heavily and jumped back to her feet.

“Do you want to take Buffy? Otherwise I’ll have to drop her at the stables. I can’t imagine it would thrill Cook if I took a tiny Mabari to the kitchens.”

Buffy looked up from her jerky and barked at Roh.

Roh grinned. “Of course.”

“Let me know as soon as you get back, I’m pretty sure Delia and I are friends, so I could sit with her and comfort her too.”

 

***

 

Maggie fiddled with the dustcover of _Kraken Steak_. “How well did you know him?”

Cook pursed her lips. “I hit him with my rolling pin once, when he propositioned me.”

“Oh.”

“Former Royal Librarian Hubert was good at taking no for an answer though, he never pressed and was always respectful. There will be a lot of broken hearts in the palace over this.”

“Maybe we can name a book collection after him. As a tribute.”

Cook narrowed her eyes, considering. “How about those erotic cookbooks?”

Maggie frowned. “Is it appropriate to dedicate pornography to someone who has died?”

Cook shrugged. “Seems a fitting celebration of his life.”

Maggie nodded and turned back to the list of non-erotic cookbooks she was marking off. She put a check mark beside the ones she’d filed into the makeshift pantry bookshelf, then regarded the armful of books she’d placed on the pantry bench. “Look at this, Cook. We could have an entire section on breadmaking!”

Cook held up a book that had a dustcover featuring a variety of artfully arranged bread rolls on the front. “What’s this one called?”

Maggie squinted at it. “It says _Noble Grains of Tevinter: A Guide to Superior Breadmaking_.”

“Okay good,” Cook said, grinning widely, “it sounds boring, so I’ll make Albert read it. He’s been late to his morning shift three times this week.”

The background hum of the kitchen staff’s voices grew louder.

Cook scowled and looked over at the kitchen. “I must need to find them more work if they have enough time to chatter like that.”

Maggie stepped out of the pantry and back into the kitchen proper, so she could get another armful of books from her trolley.

She looked up in alarm as someone flung open the main doors to the kitchen, and one of the kitchenhands came running in to the room. He had a staff attached to his back.

“VENATORI, TO ARMS. WE ARE DISCOVERED.” He held up his arms and did… something. A pulse of energy emanated from him, and Maggie found herself slammed back through the doorway of the pantry and against the far wall. The same thing had happened to Cook, and when she had caught her breath Maggie grabbed the elderly woman under the arms and pulled her under the bench and out of sight of the Venatori mage.

The spell had knocked a pile of books off the bench and on to the floor. She grabbed the top volume, _Yeast For Amateurs_ , shuffled forward, said a low “Sorry” to the book and threw it through the pantry doorway and at the mage. He yelped and ducked behind the main kitchen bench in the middle of the main room.

Maggie gave a fist pump and seized the next book. “ _Hotdog or Taco? Appreciating Fine Kirkwall Cuisine, by Varric Tethras_ ,” she read quietly, “Isn’t he the guy that wrote _Swords and Shields_? I can’t throw that one.”

She shoved _Hotdog or Taco?_ at Cook and grabbed the next book.

“Oh my,” said Cook, glancing at the illustrations.

“Okay, sorry _Breaking Bread_ , time to live your best life.” Maggie hefted the large blue tome and threw it as hard as she could at the head of the mage when it appeared over the bench.

Clearly not expecting another literary missile, there was what sounded like loud cursing in a language Maggie didn’t recognise as the book hit him in the head.

“Yessss,” Maggie hissed at the satisfying thunking sound.

She hefted the next book, _Beginners Anderfels Cuisine_ , and threw it towards where she’d last seen the Venatori head.  

Now evidently prepared for the onslaught, the Venatori incinerated the book with a ball of fire as it sailed towards him.

Maggie gasped in horror. “WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF SOULLESS BEAST BURNS A BOOK?” she screamed at the attacker.

“All will bow before the Elder One,” the mage intoned in reply, and threw a fireball towards her library trolley.

“FUCK OFF YOU BOOK BURNING WANKER.”

Cook nudged Maggie in the side, and pointed at a shadowy figure creeping towards the edge of the pantry doorway. She coolly unfastened the rolling pin from its hook on her apron waistband and positioned herself facing the figure.

Maggie looked at Cook with alarm. “Cook, no,” she whispered.

“Cook, yes,” said the elderly woman, grinning wildly and brandishing her rolling pin.

“Shit,” whispered Maggie and drew her lazurite dagger.

_Should I try to kill them? No, fuck no. But what if it’s them or us?  I can’t stick a knife into a person. Okay, but this is not a good time to have a moral crisis. I can knock them out with the hilt, like Rory showed me. That one time. Which we didn’t practise._

She moved into a couch, in front of Cook, balancing on the balls on her feet like Rory had taught her.

_Be mindful the dress will hamper me_ _when I move_ , she thought, with her heartbeat thumping in her ears. _Also tell Emmie I’ll be wearing pants from now on. Fuck I’m glad Buffy isn’t here. Okay, concentrate. Remember what to do, dart in, jab hilt first, dart away. Don’t let Cook get hurt._

Cook sent the rolling pin sailing through the air, straight into the crotch of the person as they rounded the doorway.

Maggie dashed forwards, staying low and reversing her grip on the dagger as she moved. She feinted to the side, then thrust the hilt of her dagger hard behind the ear of the Venatori. He went down like a ton of bricks.

She saw a flash out of the corner of her eye and threw herself back into relative safety under the bench. A ball of fire crashed against the wall, above the form of the man she’d knocked out.

“How the hell do we deal with that mage?” Maggie whispered to Cook.

“You don’t,” said a low voice, and the small figure of Natia Brosca materialised beside them.

Maggie gasped and looked wildly around. “Shit, what the hell? Where did you come from?”

“I snuck here. It’s what I do,” the Warden Commander whispered. “Zev is in another pantry and the King will be here any minute with reinforcements. We need to wait on him. Are you okay, Maggie?”

Maggie snarled. “They burned the fucking books. Who the fuck does that?”

Natia rolled her eyes. “But are you okay?”

Maggie huffed in agitation. “I’m fine. Cook is fine too.” She leaned out from under the counter and yelled towards the kitchen bench. “BOOK BURNING BASTARDS.”

Natia grabbed Maggie’s belt and pulled backwards with surprising strength.

“Paragon’s tits, get back here, human,” Natia whispered fiercely, “I, for one, do not want to have to tell Alistair you’ve gotten yourself killed before you’ve had time to pop out any little ginger princes or princesses.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m joking, is it too soon for that?” muttered the dwarf, “please don’t teach me about history again.”

Maggie laughed quietly.

Cook cleared her throat. “You must be Warden Commander Brosca. Nice to meet you, dear, I’m Cook.”

Natia’s eyes didn’t stop scanning the area beyond the doorway. “Nice to meet you too, Cook. Call me Natia.”

Two more staff-wielding Venatori ran into the kitchen, joining the mage behind the counter. There was another commotion from the main kitchen doors. A flurry of fireballs flew in that direction.

Alistair strode into the room, fully decked out in his gleaming Silverite armour and brandishing his sword.

It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

There was a moment of quiet as Alistair made a gesture with his free hand, muttering something under his breath, and one mage gasped. “A Silence spell. Venatori, attack!”

All three mages calmly stood, two holding staves and one holding a carving knife.

“Oh fuck,” breathed Natia. She shimmied out from under the bench and began to make her way towards the Venatori, keeping her body low and close to the wall.

The mage with the knife, a young human woman, ran it down the veins of her arm, fountaining blood all over her allies.

“Seralda, no, not that,” gasped one of the other Venatori.

Alistair yelled a war cry and vaulted over the counter to engage the mages. He swung his sword at the two mages wielding staves, but Maggie’s attention was drawn to the other mage, Seralda, who was dripping with blood and grinning manically at her.

The edges of Maggie’s vision grew fuzzy.

She needed to get out from the pantry with the books and help Seralda. If she could get a little closer, she would distract the Bastard King and let Seralda kill him for the glory of the El…

_Hey, what the hell?_ she thought muzzily. _Stop that this instant_.

She shook her head to clear it. She was standing up in the pantry, halfway to the door, looking at the rictus grin of the mage Seralda. As soon as she realised where she was, agony bloomed all over her body. It felt like her blood was burning in her veins. She dropped to her knees, gagging from the pain.

“What the fuck was that shit?” Maggie rasped, blood dripping from her nose and mouth as she spoke.

“Blood mage. Paragon’s arse, you’re bleeding everywhere. Are you okay?”

Maggie leaned forward to let the blood drip from her face onto the ground. “Ow. It hurts like a bitch, but I’m fine. Pretty sure I’ve had worse from little old ladies at second-hand book fairs.” She laughed weakly. “Rare books is a cutthroat industry, let me tell you.”

Natia eyed her. “You’re tougher than you look.”

Maggie grimaced. “You should have seen me trying to get my hands on a first edition of _Blinky Bill_.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. It was still bleeding.

Cook pressed her apron into Maggie’s hands. “Maker’s mercy. It takes a strong will to resist a blood mage.” She patted Maggie’s back approvingly.

Natia fumbled in her belt, looking over her shoulder. Maggie looked up and followed her gaze to where Zevran was drawing his dagger across the throat of the blood mage Seralda. Alistair had dispatched one mage and was ducking fireballs from the other, who had seemingly recovered some of their power. The fireballs were smaller than before, and Alistair charged the mage, bashing them in the face with his shield and knocking them out.

“Didn’t even get a chance to fight,” the dwarf muttered. “Zev will never let me hear the end of it.”

She handed Maggie a small potion bottle filled with red liquid and then a hip flask. “Potion first,” she said to Maggie. “Then take a large swig from the flask. Just sit there until you feel better, I’ll tie up your friend in the doorway.”

Maggie downed the red potion and felt the painful burning sensation that had been crawling under her skin recede a little. She wiped her face on Cook’s apron, disturbed by the amount of blood that came off. Maggie unscrewed the cap from the hipflask and took a healthy mouthful. It tasted like an uncomfortable melange of different alcohol, but it neutralised the taste of blood and was a more pleasant burn than the blood mage spell, whatever that was.

There was a clanging as Alistair skidded into the pantry, dropping to his knees beside her, narrowly avoiding the pool of her blood. He had an expression of abject horror on his face as he looked at her.

“I’m fine,” Maggie said hurriedly, and spat more blood into Cook’s apron.

“Maggie,” he said, his voice cracking. “Oh Maker.”

“Honestly, I’m fine. It looks worse than it is. Natia gave me medicine and booze and both are helping, I assure you.”

He took her bloodied hand gently in his gauntleted one and then looked over his shoulder at Natia, who was securing ropes around the Venatori that Maggie had knocked unconscious.

“Blood Control?” he asked Natia.

Natia nodded. “Attempted Blood Control. Your librarian resisted it.”

Maggie took another large gulp from Natia’s hipflask.  “Isn’t that the armour that gives you a rash?”

Alistair looked down at himself and sighed. “Yes, it is.”

Natia snorted a laugh.

“Make sure you get elfroot salve from the healers, Your Majesty,” said Cook, sympathetically.

Maggie took another drink, then shook the flask beside her ear. It was almost empty. “You look incredibly sexy in it though. Like a sexy human sized tin can. Very sexy,” she said, dabbing the dripping blood from her nose with Cook’s apron.

Alistair raised an eyebrow and took the flask off her, holding it up to his nose and sniffing it. He grimaced and looked at Natia, “You gave her Grey Whiskey?”

Natia shrugged. “I figured it would help.”

“I’m hardly bleeding at all,” Maggie said cheerfully. “Did I mention how sexy you are in your rash armour?”

Alistair snorted and stood up. “Can you stand?”

Maggie took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. As soon as she took her own weight her knees wobbled, though she wasn’t sure if that was an after-effect of the spell or Natia’s Grey Whiskey.

Alistair swept her into his arms and cradled her against his chest.

Maggie spat blood into the apron again and looked up at his face. “At least you didn’t sling me over your shoulder this time. That wouldn’t be so sexy.”

He sighed again. “Come on, let’s get you to the healers.”

Arl Eamon came running into the kitchen, surrounded by guards and holding a sword. He looked wildly around the kitchen, then at Alistair and Maggie. She was bleeding down the front of his breastplate and tapping it with her fingernails, making little plinking sounds and giggling.

“We need to get you to safety, Sire. Give the librarian to a guard and they can take her to the healers.”

“It’s taken care of, Uncle. I’ll take Lady Maggie to the healer, make sure she’s well and then come back here.”

Eamon looked pained. “Your Majesty, please…” He did a dramatic double take as Natia came striding out of the pantry. “Wa… Warden Commander? What are you doing here?”

Natia shot Alistair a significant glance, then took Eamon’s arm, steering him away towards the far end of the kitchen. “Arl Eamon. Delightful to see you after so many years. How is the oh so lovely Isolde? I hear Connor is assisting the Inquisition in Redcliffe, you must be very proud….”

Natia’s voice became lost in the hubbub of the kitchen and Maggie looked up at Alistair. “If you need to do Kingly stuff, that’s fine. I’m okay.”

“Healers for you first. Kingly stuff for me second.”

Maggie wiped some of her blood off his armour with the remaining clean corner of Cook’s apron. “Will you come to my quarters tonight after you finish?”

He kissed her forehead, which was presumably the only part of her face not covered in blood. “Of course.”

 

***

 

Maggie lay back on her pillows and stared at the roof of her quarters. The healing potions had worked, and she’d stopped bleeding, but she was under strict instructions to go to bed and stay in bed until the following morning. There were bruises all over her body, especially on her face, but they’d healed to yellow from the potions the healers had given her. The Grey Whiskey had worn off too, which was disappointing because that was almost better than the healing potions. For her morale anyway.

Roh and Eliza had been in to tell her they hadn’t yet located Delia. Roh had picked up some reading material from the library, which included another Varric Tethras book, _Eggplant and Avocado: The Gastronomy of Swords and Shields_. They had also dropped Buffy back to her, all tuckered out after the long walk around Denerim. The puppy was currently sleeping at the foot of her bed, snoring softly and occasionally twitching.

Every time she shut her eyes, she could see the face of Seralda, the blood mage who’d tried to control her, as Zevran slit her throat.

_She tried to fuck with your mind, so she could kill Alistair_ , she reminded herself. _This isn’t Australia. I can’t phone triple zero and ask nicely for the police to show up. It was only pure luck that bashing the guy with the hilt of the dagger worked and I didn’t need to stab him. Fuck._

It had been like watching a violent television show, except as well as sound and vision there had been the smells of blood and fire and the agony of pain.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she called, voice a little raspy from her injuries.

Alistair walked backwards into the room, nodding at something presumably one of his guards had said. He turned around to face her and smiled as he closed the door. He was wearing far less clothing than usual, only a linen shirt and breeches.

“Maker’s breath you look awful, Maggie.”

Maggie laughed. “You always know how to charm a lady, Alistair.”

He leaned over the bed and kissed her very softly. “You know, I realised I’ve never been to your quarters.” He paused and looked around. “They are quite small. Why did Mistress Torwin put you here? Would you like me to find you larger rooms?”

Maggie shook her head. “No, thank you. They are more than large enough for me.” She grinned, “I thought you’d appreciate how plain my furnishings are.”

He sat down on the bed and leaned over to rap his knuckles on the frame. “Look at this, it’s just like mine. Obviously we need to find you a bed made of obscenely expensive Stormheart and emblazoned with griffons.”

Maggie giggled and leaned back against the headboard as he pulled his boots off then wiggled himself back to sit beside her.

He eyed her nose cautiously. “The healing potions worked?”

“All my blood is on the inside, where it’s supposed to be! Only bit light headed from the blood I lost, and bruised still, obviously. I don’t think Cook’s apron will ever be the same again though.”

She snuggled against his arm and he kissed the top of her head.

“Alistair?” Maggie paused, unsure how to word her thoughts.

“Mmm?”

“Today wasn’t so unusual for here, was it? I mean, fighting and killing and then just going back to your life when it’s done. No one seemed particularly bothered by it.”

Alistair considered her words. “I think, for me, I can go back to my life as normal because I didn’t have a choice. If people I lo… like are in danger, I want to protect them. And sometimes that means kill or be killed.”

Maggie nodded against his arm. “Zevran called into the healer’s rooms to see how I was, and he mentioned he and Natia were on their way to see Rory. Because apparently, and I’m quoting him here, he had to be the elven filling in a dwarf sandwich.” She sat up and gave Alistair a wry smile. “I’m also trying to get my head around the concept of killing people then heading off for a sexy threesome? It’s a bit beyond my experience.”

Alistair huffed a laugh. “Killing people followed by group sex is possibly the best description of Zevran I’ve ever heard.”

Maggie laughed as well. “At least Rory will be happy, he practically swooned when he was talking about Zevran the other day.”

Alistair ran his fingertips down her arm, careful not to press on her bruises. “I got a message today, before the Venatori attack.” He paused and stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. “The Jader peace talks are finally going to take place. I need to leave tomorrow.”

“How long will you be away?”

Alistair made a face. “Maybe a fortnight? Three weeks? By the Maker I hope not longer than that. Diplomacy gives me an upset stomach.”

Maggie lay down and rolled on to her side to face him, wincing at the pain as she moved. He did the same thing, so they were nose to nose. She trailed her fingers through his hair and tilted her face so they could kiss. It hurt, a little, even though he was treating her like she was made of glass.  

Alistair pulled back and tucked her head under his chin. He smelled like elfroot salve, clean linen and himself. Maggie pressed herself against him and relaxed as he gently stroked her hair.  

 “I’m really looking forward to you coming back from Jader,” she whispered.

“Maker’s breath, so am I.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for reading this over for me!

She awoke in the morning curled around Alistair’s back, the big spoon to his little spoon. Apparently Asleep Maggie was bolder than Awake Maggie because she had her hand under his shirt and against his naked stomach. She spread her fingers to touch more of his skin and rested her ear against his back, so she could listen to his heartbeat and drift around the edges of wakefulness.

Maggie felt Alistair stir, and reach towards something on the bedside table.

She tightened her grip on his middle. “No, don’t leave me,” she muttered. “You’re very warm.”

He chuckled. “Mmm, tell me something I don’t know. Grey Wardens always run hot.”

Maggie cuddled into his back, satisfied he would not move too far away. “The national anthem of Australia has the word ‘girt’ in it.”

“Sorry?”

She grinned. “I bet you didn’t know that.”

Maggie felt him laugh again, and he rolled over to face her. She grumbled at the loss of his comfortable back but spied a platter of fruit on the bedside table as he moved.

She smoothed down his shirt where she’d untucked it during the night. “Is this how you live? You get table fruit every morning?”

He gently moved her hair off her face. “You know I get snacky. Anyway, it’s not always fruit. Sometimes they send nuts too.”

“The many benefits of being King,” she said, reaching up and tangling her fingers in his hair. It was mussed from sleep and stood up in a cowlick at the front. “I like your hair. You have excellent hair.”

He picked up a hank of her hair and tickled her face with it. “As do you. Clearly our relationship was meant to be.”

Maggie giggled. “I like your nose too. It’s very aristocratic.”

He nodded. “I have a theory it was the only reason the Landsmeet agreed to make me King. They took one look at me, saw I’d inherited King Maric’s nose and realised I’d be a suitable candidate.”

“Because of your nose?”

“Because of my nose.”

She studied his face. He looked relaxed. “I’m happy you stayed. Did you intend to?”

“No, but I’m glad I did. I can’t think of a better way to wake up than next to you.

She snuggled closer to him. “With me attached to your back and leeching your warmth?”

He put his arm around her. “Exactly.”

There was a knock at the door.

Maggie yawned and stretched. “I imagine it’s for you. Emmie knocks and walks straight in.”

Alistair rolled over to grab a bunch of grapes from the bedside table and passed three to her. “There is no such thing as privacy when you are a King.”

“Yes, the guards hovering outside my door are a bit of a giveaway where you slept last night,” Maggie said indistinctly, through a mouthful of grape. “I’m impressed they even delivered your pre-breakfast snackables to the correct room.”

“That would be Cook’s doing. I talked to her yesterday evening, and she told me all about how brave you were. She said the only thing Ferelden had been lacking in the past decade was a Queen who’d be willing to defend her subjects with library books.” He gave her a lopsided smile.

Maggie felt her cheeks burn at his words. “I… oh. Eep.”

_Oh, he said the Q-word. Shit what do I say? Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Okay. This is fine. Tell him you love him, you twit._

She cleared her throat. “Keeping Cook safe was worth the loss of those books. Those book-burning Venatori dickheads.”

_Oh my god Maggie, really?_

The knocking came again, more insistent.

She dragged her eyes away from Alistair, sat up and called “Yes? Come in.”

Alistair’s manservant, Tobias, came into the room holding a hefty pile of clothing. He gave as much of a bow as he could.

“Your Majesty, My Lady.” He addressed them respectfully like Maggie wasn’t sitting up in bed, red faced and wearing her nightgown, and Alistair wasn’t currently stuffing his face with grapes. “Sire, I have your travelling clothes. Arl Eamon is most eager for your journey to be underway. Most eager indeed.”

Alistair swallowed his mouthful. “Thank you, Tobias. Please leave the clothes, I’ll dress myself today. I’d appreciate if you could let my Uncle know I’ll be there momentarily.”

Tobias placed the clothing on the end of the bed and gave them both a deep bow again as he backed out of the room.

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t normally dress yourself?”

Alistair looked defensive. “It depends on what I’m wearing. Traditional royal clothing requires far too many buckles, toggles, ties, and weird fastenings so it’s much faster to get help.”

“One of these days you must show me them and I’ll help you with your toggle problem.”

Alistair looked at the pile of clothing at the end of the bed, and then questioningly at Maggie.

She grinned. “I’ll shut my eyes, lest the sight of The Royal Bottom inflame me with lust and I don’t let you go to Jader.” She flopped dramatically back on her pillows and flung her arm over her eyes. “I might tie you to the bed and have my wicked way with you, and then where will we be?”

She heard him pause amidst the rustling of his dressing. “Happy? I’d far rather do that than go to Jader.”

“Okay yes, we’d be happy, but Ferelden would be ungoverned. Your kingdom would fall to wrack and ruin! And the poor Orlesians will have to negotiate with themselves which wouldn’t be half as fun.”

“And what a terrible thing that would be.” His voice was dry.

“By the way, this is a one-time thing. Next time I want a full view of The Royal Nudity.”

He laughed, then paused again. “Maggie, why do you have… Maker’s. Breath.”

Maggie sat up, still with her eyes screwed shut, and said “Why do I have? Oh. Ohh, you saw the cocktus, didn’t you?”

He let out a strangled squeak. “Cocktus?

Maggie grinned, picturing the ferociously spined cactus sitting on her shelf. It had a large central cactus shaft, with two smaller round structures at the base, all covered in aggressive spikes.

“Roh found it at the Denerim marketplace. She laughed for a long time, then insisted on buying it for me. She said it would be a good luck charm,” Maggie said, giggling at the memory.

Alistair snorted. “Good luck for making me get my pants on quicker. Looking at that thing is making me oddly uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable about a hefty weaponised cactus shaft? I can’t imagine why.”

“You can open your eyes now.”

She opened her eyes, then hopped out of bed and padded over to him. He was wearing leather breeches and his leather coat. She ran her fingers over the fur trim of his mantle.

“You’d better keep this away from Buffy. I bet she’d love to chew it.”

“Where is Buffy? She was here last night.”

Maggie stood on tiptoes and wound her arms around his neck. “Emmie always comes and gets her early, so she can pee and eat and hang out with the other puppies before her training.”

He kissed the tip of her nose and ran his fingers down the side of her face.

“How are my bruises looking?” Maggie said, pressing herself against him.

He dropped his arms and hugged her to him. “You’re still beautiful, just… beautiful and a little mottled.”

Maggie tilted her head questioningly. “Too mottled to kiss properly?”

“We kissed properly last night, and you looked worse then.”

“I think I need three weeks’ worth of kisses since you are leaving me to go on an exciting diplomatic excursion.”

“Clearly, you and I have very different definitions of excitement.” He cupped her jaw, and she tilted her head towards him, so they could kiss.

Instead of one of them pulling back after the kiss, they deepened it and he walked her backwards until her back hit the wall. He pressed his body against her and she grabbed handfuls of his jacket and pulled him harder to her. He slid a thigh between her legs and she shamelessly ground onto him as his hands drifted lower to cup her bottom.

She took a shaky breath. “Careful, my smalls fall down at the slightest provocation.”

He moaned quietly into her ear.

“You think I’m being sexy but I’m not kidding. Underwear in this place is so bloody droopy.”

“You’re being both sexy and informative,” he murmured. “I like that in a woman.”

Maggie laughed and kissed him again. She ran a hand down his body to palm the bulge in the front of his breeches. He took a sharp breath against her mouth and pressed her harder against the wall.

There was a knock at the door again.

“Blast it,” Alistair muttered.

Maggie reluctantly moved her hand to his hip. “Okay, I have an idea.”

“What’s that?” he said against her ear.

“You go ahead and declare war on Orlais, so you can stay here.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” He paused and nibbled his way down her neck

The knocking sounded again. “It’s very important, Sire,” a loud voice came drifting through the door.

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “You need to do your duty.”

“Sadly, yes I do. They’ll send Rory to get me next, and I don’t want him to pull me through my own palace by my ear.”

She licked the shell of his ear. “Come find me as soon as you get back?”

He moved his head to kiss her lips again. “Yes. Before I do anything else.”

“I don’t care if we have to duck into a supply closet to get naked together or that dodgy tack room in the stables. I need you.”

His hands tightened on her hips. “Oh Maker, I need you too.”

 

***

 

Maggie launched herself at the training dummy with a roar. She stabbed her dagger repeatedly into the heavy canvas, making the dummy rock on its stand.

_Dear god I want him._

Stab.

_I need him_.

Stab.

_I love him._

Stab.

“Got some sexual frustration to work out there?” Roh’s voice intruded on her focus.

Maggie snarled, then stopped and wiped her face with a dry corner of a rag she had looped into her belt.

“What makes you say that?” she said, puffing heavily.

Roh exchanged a glance with Eliza. “Rory is away with the King and you are still practicing. Voluntarily. On your own.”

“I need the practice.”

Eliza regarded her with interest. “This level of frustration is improving your skills. Though, I must ask, why aren’t you using a training dagger?”

Roh smirked. “I think her lazurite dagger is a metaphorical representation of the King’s cock.”

Maggie viciously thrust the dagger into the soft underbelly of the dummy, right up to the hilt.

“Everything is fine,” Maggie said, baring her teeth. “We got to see each other this morning before he left. Three weeks isn’t so long.”

“Ahh yes, we heard about the sleeping arrangements. Only you two would spend the night together, in your quarters, in your bed, and not fuck.”

Maggie cast a glare at her and launched another flurry of blows at the dummy.

Roh grinned wickedly. “Do you need a book to help you with the details? Or I can give you some advice if you like. Men aren’t exactly my forte, but I imagine it’s much the same. You tell them they have beautiful tits, jump into bed, talk about your feelings, then you move in together and get a dog. Easy.”

“Why did you agree to wait until after Jader?” Eliza frowned. “You look like you’re about to combust.”

“Because I’m a respectful modern woman who is in control of herself,” said Maggie tightly. She turned around and eviscerated the training dummy in one blow.

“Andraste’s quim, Maggie, why don’t you just… take care of things yourself?” Roh waggled her fingers suggestively.

“I do,” Maggie snapped, kicking the base of the dummy. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “That’s not the problem. Ugh. There is no problem. It’s fine. He’ll be back before I know it.”

Roh made a disbelieving noise. “Here, come walk with us through the gardens. It’ll make you less Angry Horny.”

Maggie eyed the damaged practice dummy, then nodded.

Roh looped an arm through Maggie’s and they headed towards the gardens, taking a detour via the stables to collect Buffy from where she was socialising with her siblings. Eliza prowled beside them, keeping both hands free in case of trouble.

“Still no sign of Delia,” Eliza said.

“Well, she’s not the most socially au fait,” said Maggie. “Maybe she’s off mourning her mentor on her own somewhere?”

“I didn’t know you spoke Orlesian. But yes, that is possible.” Eliza kept her eyes on their surroundings as she spoke. “She’s quite a solitary person.”

Buffy streaked ahead of them, chasing Edith who had appeared then run up the nearest tree. The cat crouched on a low branch, scowling at the puppy on the ground.

“I call bullshit,” said Roh. “This whole thing is as dodgy as fuck.”

“You might be right.” Eliza’s voice was reluctant.

They reached the tree and Maggie stood on her tiptoes to pat Edith. Buffy whined at her feet. “I’ve been thinking about the plans for a tribute to Former Royal Librarian Hubert. A curated selection of tasteful pornography seems to be the most popular option.”

Eliza laughed. “I’m sure the King will be thrilled to have his library further filled with erotic masterpieces.”

“It’ll probably turn it into a worldwide attraction,” said Roh, “Denerim: home of the smuttiest library in Thedas.”

Eliza hummed. “That would be a fitting tribute.”

They made their way around the gardens and near the main gates.

Roh looked at Maggie speculatively. “Do you need to go to the library today, or can we go to the Gnawed Noble Tavern to make fun of the other patrons and take your mind off the King?”

“You know what?” Maggie said, “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

 

***

 

Maggie was a little fuzzy from the ale she’d had that afternoon, but something seemed… wrong in her room.

There was an absence of something. It reminded Maggie of when she was a child, and her Mum would put the air conditioning unit on in summer when the temperatures outside would sometimes reach over thirty-five degrees. The house would fill with the quiet background hum of the fans, and she and Jon would stand in front of the cold air, relishing the icy blast. Then Dad would come home from the pub, hot and drunk and angry, and shout about expensive power bills until Mum gave in and turned the unit off. The lack of ambient fan noise would then render the house too quiet, until the sticky heat and usual urban background noises drifted back to fill the space.

Maggie shook herself and looked around. Emmie had made her bed, but the linens were the same. She smiled and touched the pillow that Alistair had used. The pile of books Roh had bought her yesterday still sat beside the bed.

Nothing looked out of place. She’d collected a few items during her time in Denerim. A blue feather that Edith had bought into the library one day and carefully placed on her pile of cataloguing, all the while meowing insistently. That first stick that Buffy had fetched for her. The cocktus was there, as disconcertingly phallic as ever.

An old pillow Buffy had been using as a bed was still on the ground, along with a soft knitted blanket that Emmie had given the puppy.

She knelt beside the chest where her clothes and personal items lived. Her toiletries were still in there. The ridiculously huge sanitary pads. Her dresses and regrettably baggy undergarments. She reached the bottom and gasped.

_Where the hell is my book?_

She scrabbled around in the chest, making sure she hadn’t somehow missed it under her clothes.

_How does a book just disappear?_

Her words echoed in the too-quiet room. “WHERE’S MY FUCKING BOOK?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my excellent sibling [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) for spending her Friday night helping me learn to be less of a noob writer!

Maggie sat down on the ground and smiled encouragingly. “Now sit, girl, sit.”

Buffy cocked her head to the side and whined. She remained standing.

“I know you understand me. Look, it’s lovely here on the ground. See how comfy I am, sitting in the dirt in my nice dress.” Maggie brushed an ant off her knee. “I’m having the best time.”

Buffy growled.

“Okay fine. Is this about the jerky? Because the stablemaster was right, you will get fat if I give you jerky every time you do something right.”

Buffy barked twice.

Maggie grimaced. “Because you aren’t the one who has to listen to the lecture. You’re a noble Ferelden Mabari, not an Orlesian Fophound. I can’t let you have an addiction to deliciously fattening jerky.”

Buffy regarded Maggie, then sat down.

“Thank you. See, this is great. We’re a great team.”

“She looks like her grandfather,” came the voice of Natia from behind Maggie.

Maggie jumped to her feet, with only a small stumble. Natia and Zevran were both dressed for travel, holding knapsacks. “You knew her grandfather?”

“He fought beside us during the Blight. Moroc stayed here at the palace afterwards when Zev was here, to increase the breeding stocks. Moroc, not Zevran.”

Zevran came up beside her and grinned. “That’s the story I told you, my dear.”

Natia laughed, and elbowed him.

“What have you called this one?” the dwarf said, bending down to pat the puppy.

“Her name is Buffy.”

“Buffy?”

Maggie shrugged. “It’s the name of a great warrior from my homeland. It’s nice to see you both, I figured you had left. The Venatori attack was almost two weeks ago.”

“That’s why we are here now, we’re heading up to Soldier’s Peak to check in with Avernus, and then on to Amaranthine to try to track down what the fuck happened to the other Ferelden Wardens.” Natia shook her head. “That fucking Corypheus.”

“Speaking of him, the palace rumour mill expects the Inquisition to arrive within the next 24 hours, you aren’t staying to see them?”

“My contact there is Leliana, and we communicate with ravens. If I meet the Inquisitor, it’ll turn into an endless diplomatic round of politeness and I want to get going after this fortnights delay.” Natia paused, then looked Maggie up and down. “You know, I expected to hate you, but actually you aren’t terrible.”

Maggie laughed. “Ah, thanks? You aren’t terrible either. I hope you both can come back here for a visit.”

Natia nodded. “Take care of Alistair too. You’re good for him.”

“And if he breaks your heart, come and find us,” said Zevran, smirking. “I’ve got plenty of experience helping women forget all about him.”

He put his arm around Natia who looked up at him affectionately. “You’re incorrigible,” she said to him, grinning.

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “I’ll, um, keep that in mind!”

 

***

 

“Beatrice Pavus, get down here at once.”

Maggie was sitting on the floor, cross legged in front of a partially filled display case. She smirked at the handsome mage. “I don’t reckon she’s listening, Dorian.”

She liked Dorian, he was flamboyantly charming and funny. Since arriving the previous day with his fellow Inquisition members, he’d made himself thoroughly at home in the palace.

His carefully groomed hair and moustache reminded Maggie that she badly needed a haircut. At least Emmie’s excellent hair braiding skills hid a multitude of sins.

A large fluffy white cat ran along the top of the bookshelf. She was identical to Edith, except for the colour.

“Is that how you behave as a guest?” Dorian stood watching his cat, with his hands on his hips.

“She’ll settle down once she realises there is a comfy fire to sleep beside. And that her sister Edith is here, judging her.”

Maggie looked over to where Edith was sitting on a table, ostentatiously demonstrating good behaviour and occasionally grooming.

Dorian collapsed into a chair beside Edith. “I wash my hands of you, infernal beast,” he said to Beatrice, who was zooming around the tops of the bookcases with a feral expression on her fluffy face.

“If you ignore her, she’ll calm down and behave. In theory. Anyway, enjoy your glass of wine and relax, you’ve had a big journey to get here.”

Dorian groaned and shook his head. “You don’t want to know what I had to promise to Inquisitor Cadash to stay here at the palace instead of going to close the rift with them tomorrow. I’m still afraid she’ll send Cassandra in here to pick me up and carry me off to help them.”

Maggie shifted to a more comfortable position on the floor. “Oh, I’m acquainted with the Denerim Fade rift. There were demons! Alistair hauled me out of there over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

Dorian fluttered his eyelashes at her. “How romantic. I’ve heard all sorts of delicious rumours about you and the dashing King.”

Maggie chuckled, remembering her ungainly position over Alistair’s shoulder as he lugged her off to the cave near the Fade rift. “I imagine the truth is less interesting than the rumours, sadly.”

Dorian arched a questioning brow. “Nights of passion here in the library?”

“In the library? Sounds awkward. You might be thinking of Former Royal Librarian Hubert.” Maggie cast a dark glance at Hubert’s old desk, still sitting unused in the middle of the room.

“Him and the King? No, I hadn’t heard those two linked. Sounds delightfully scandalous.” Dorian tapped his lip with his finger in thought. “Now I remember, there was one rumour you gave him a rune to enhance his, shall we say, manly prowess, and required him to wear it at all times in case you needed him to service you.”

“Wow. That’s… wow,” she paused, considering. “Although I guess it’s partially true…”

Dorian waved his wine glass at her. “No, stop right there. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to spoil such an enjoyable mental image by knowing the truth.”

Maggie shifted a pile of books into her lap for sorting. “Okay. Never let it be said I’d squash a good fantasy!”

Dorian tilted his head sideways to read the names of the volumes she had selected for the display.

“And this is a memorial for the former librarian who died two weeks ago, am I correct?”

“I tracked down the Former Royal Librarian Hubert’s book supplier. She had some amazing rare volumes, so I took the liberty of ordering some for his tribute collection. These arrived this morning, Lady Delmira Tart’s nautical trilogy. _Shafting the Mast, Polishing the Mast_ and,” Maggie dug another volume out from the bottom of the pile, “ah, here we are, _Raising the Mast_.”

Dorian nodded approvingly. “They were all the rage at Skyhold this past Satinalia. I’ve never seen women so aflutter about romances with no female characters!”

“I got this annotated edition of _Swords and Shields_ as well, though most of the notes involve pointing out plot holes and making fun of the word ‘turgid’. Do you think Varric would sign it for me, anyway?”

“Oh undoubtedly. He’d probably add more unflattering annotations too, if you asked him.”

Maggie laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind when I see him in the hall for dinner.”

Dorian sighed and smoothed his moustache, looking glum. “Ugh, the palace dinner. All those people gawking at the Tevinter mage, expecting me to start bathing in blood and sacrificing virgins at the drop of a hat.”

“You’ve only been here for a day, Dorian. And that first day was entirely official functions, where it wasn’t polite for people to stare.”

Dorian made a gesture of dismissal. “You’re lucky I left the gawkers behind and consented to join you here in the library. I’ve never known such a terrible correspondent. When you get a missive from a handsome mage, my dear, you really ought to answer in a timely fashion.”

“I did answer some of your letters. I was just… not focusing on my Fade problem.” Maggie felt the usual stab of longing in her chest she got when she thought about Alistair. “Anyway, my book is missing, so I’m officially stuck here.”

Dorian slapped his knee. “That reminds me.” He lifted the lid of the basket he’d placed at his feet. Unlike Alistair’s basket he often bought to the library, this one didn’t contain cheese. Instead Dorian lifted out a book, remarkably like Maggie’s one from Earth.

Maggie stood up and went to sit beside him, stroking Edith as she did so.

Beatrice let out a loud “MORP” and continued her scamper over the bookcases like a manic white cloud.

Maggie studied the cover. “This isn’t exactly like my book, it’s subtly different.”

“My contacts at the Black Emporium in Kirkwall procured it after I passed along your description of your book and events that sent you to the Fade.”

Maggie blinked and shifted uneasily. “Is that wise? Alistair suggested it might upset people, hearing I travelled there physically.”

“Rest assured, dear Lady Maggie,” Dorian said, waving a careless hand, “I guarantee the utmost discretion of the Emporium. And the Inquisition, of course.”

Maggie frowned at the book.

Dorian looked at her. “If you can take a break from your erotica curation, we could have a detailed examination of this book together. That is why I am here, after all.”

“Okay. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for Rift avoidance. We’d better get down to business. I do have one question first though.”

“What is it?”

“Could you… could you show me some magic?” Maggie said.  “I’ve only seen a little magic, and that mostly involved getting a bit fucked up by a blood mage who tried to mind control me.”

Dorian winced as she said the words ‘blood mage’.

Maggie made a waving gesture. “I want to see, I dunno, friendly magic? We don’t have magic where I’m from, and I’ve read so much about it.”

Dorian sat back in his seat. “Well I specialise in Necromancy, but I imagine witnessing a binding of death spirits isn’t quite what you had in mind.”

Maggie considered this. “It’s your magic, if you want to get a little corpsey for me, well then that’s up to you.”

“Why don’t we start small, instead,” he said.

Dorian patted her hand then gently turned it over and waved his own hand over it, muttering under his breath. Delicate snowflakes drifted over and above her palm. Some settled on her skin, melting as they did so.

Maggie laughed in delight. “That’s wonderful, Dorian.”

“Normally I just get compliments for my ravishing good looks, but I will also accept praise for my outstanding magical ability.” He gave her a rakish grin.

Maggie stared intently at the tiny snowflakes. “As I understand it, you can harness the power of the Fade and twist reality to your will?”

Dorian leaned forward. “Almost. It’s more like a strongly worded suggestion to reality to do something that could potentially occur, however unlikely that would be. I can create snow over your hand because there is water in the surrounding air, and I can direct it to freeze.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes in consideration. “So, when a mage makes fire, it’s because the oxygen in the air is flammable?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the term ‘oxygen’, but yes, we can encourage something in the air to burn. Mages that can create barriers can thicken the air around a subject or object and prevent things from bypassing it. Creation magic can enhance the body’s natural healing processes. It’s all a manipulation of reality, powered by the Fade.”

Maggie waggled her fingers, making the snowflakes swirl around them. “Amazing, just wonderful.”

Dorian smiled, his expression softening at her enthusiasm. He reached out to add more snowflakes, larger than before. His smile widened as Maggie laughed again, enchanted by his demonstration. "I'm glad you find it so."

“So, people like Alistair, who can counter magic, can reinforce that reality and block you from accessing the Fade?”

“Yes, that is correct. I forgot your King was templar trained. He seems like a decent man despite that.”

Maggie blushed, remembering how good it felt to be close to Alistair, how much she wished she could kiss him again. “He is… very decent, yes.”

“Our Commander Cullen is an ex templar and another honourable man rising above his previous circumstances. He and the King are good friends.” Dorian summoned some snowflakes above his own hand and held it out for Edith to sniff. The ginger cat eyed the mage with suspicion, then batted at the snow, looking perplexed when it melted on the pads of her paw.

“Commander Cullen is the one who sent Edith to Alistair, yeah?”

“Oh yes. Apparently, they send regular gift baskets to each other. Cullen said its generally unusual varieties of cheese, books on military tactics, or military memorabilia.” Dorian turned his hand around and twirled snowflakes around Edith’s ears, laughing as she headbutted his palm. “Once I spent an entire evening painstakingly magicking the rust off an old pommel that allegedly belonged to King Calenhad, so Cullen could send that along.”

Maggie recalled what she’d read about Ferelden history. “The one with the lake? Cool.”

 “Ugh, freezing cold, actually.” Dorian shivered. “Anyway, once the Commander found himself with a litter of kittens on his hands, he thought a royal feline would be a good gift.”

“She’s the daughter of Skyhold’s best mouser, Alistair said.”

“Ahh yes, Messere Fluffy, Bane of Rodents and Scourge of the Commander’s Office. I got Beatrice out of the litter, and our lovely Ambassador Josephine got an orange monster who looks just like Edith, Lady Raspberry Montilyet.”

“Gifts of kittens, cheese, and books. That sounds like the most adorable bromance.”

Dorian had a faraway look in his eyes. “Those two strapping chantry boys. All rippling muscles and emotional repression. What I wouldn’t give to see them… ah, spar together.”

Maggie grinned at him. “If that ever happens, Dorian, I’ll make sure you have a front-row seat.”

He sighed happily. “Anyway, pushing thoughts of attractive men aside, shall we take a look at this book?”

Maggie opened the book and paged through it, stopping in some sections to examine the illustrations more closely.

“Some of these pictures seem more… Earthy?” she said. “It’s hard to tell though, there is nothing super obvious and a lot of the plants and animals are the same in both places.”

Dorian tapped the book with his forefinger. “I’ve consulted with my colleague… ah, friend? Hmm. Let’s go with colleague, Solas. He’s an expert on the Fade and he’s heard whispers of ancient tomes connected to the Fade in some way. He thinks there may be some link between worlds there that is generally inaccessible.”

“Mmm. Okay.”

“What were you doing when you entered the Fade?”

“I was reading the book,” Maggie said vaguely. “In my apartment. Just wearing my pyjamas.”

Dorian brightened, seemingly enthused by the hint of potential scandal. “The King rescued you from demons when you were wearing sexy sleepwear?”

Maggie snorted, picturing the cartoon dinosaurs on her pants. “No, I was wearing the Earth equivalent of garishly coloured breeches and a giant baggy shirt. I dressed myself for an evening with books and cups of tea, not seduction. Though Eamon, for some reason, thought I was a Lady of the Night.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair and stretched, still, Maggie noted, managing to look sexy and well put together as he did so. “My dear Librarian, I’m sure he thinks I’m a Lady of the Night too. I wouldn’t take it personally. Anyway, did you say anything? Move your hands in a particular way?”

“I probably read some text out loud, but I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing so I’m not sure. I do remember there were fireworks outside the window so it must have been the new millennium.”

“What’s the new millennium?”

“It was the last day of the year Nineteen Ninety-Nine, and the date was going to switch over to the year Two Thousand.”

“Dates are artificial constructs, but that does sound like an unusual event,” said the mage, rolling the stem of his empty wine glass in his fingers and frowning at it as he thought.

“People were going mad for it. Some believed life as we knew it would end because all the computers might go offline…” Maggie noticed Dorian was looking politely blank. “I mean, our whole lives were dependent on machines, and there was the potential that the date switch over would cause everything to crash and burn. It was all rubbish, although I left right when it was supposed to happen, so I guess I’ll never be sure.”

“You said in your original book that there was a drawing of Denerim palace.” Dorian stood up and started pacing beside the table, tapping his finger on his lips.

“Yeah,” said Maggie, twisting around to look at him. “It looked just like the outside of the palace.”

“And you said this book here looks more like your Earth?”

“There are these drawings of cities that might be old areas of European cities, going by the architecture. That’s a bunch of countries on the other side of the world to where I’m from. I’m not sure though, these could be from Thedas as well.”

Maggie felt an unaccustomed twinge of homesickness. She’d always wanted to go to Europe but had never had the chance. Now if she had her way and stayed here in Denerim, she never would see any part of Earth again.

_I wonder if they have kangaroos and koalas anywhere in Thedas? I hope they do. And lizards that are small and cute, not big and bitey? House flies. Actually no, FUCK HOUSE FLIES. I hope they don’t have them here._

Beatrice had evidently finished her run around the bookcases because she trotted over to the table and jumped up on it, snapping Maggie out of her reverie. The white cat gazed over at Dorian adoringly.

“Beatrice, my beauty, how good of you to join us,” he said, scratching the cat’s tufted ears.

Maggie rested her chin on her hand. “I don’t know, Dorian. My other book might have vaguely mentioned something about a sister book? If I translated correctly?”

Dorian nodded, standing beside the table so Beatrice could rub her face on the front of his jacket. “A shame we don’t have your book then, to compare the two.”

“It went missing the same day my friend Delia did. She researched how non-mages interact with the Fade, so I’d be stupid not to wonder if there wasn’t a connection.”

“That does seem odd.” Dorian looked thoughtful again.

A tall dark-haired woman flung open the door to the library and strode over to their table. Maggie recognised her as Inquisitor Cadash’s companion, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.

“You’re going to be late for our dinner, Dorian. I’d have thought you’d be front and centre drinking the King’s best wine and scandalising the nobles. And hello Lady Maggie.”

Maggie waved at her. “Hello Seeker. Dorian and I were just doing some research.”

“And regrettably not getting very far,” Dorian said.

Maggie noticed Cassandra was eyeing the display she had been working on.

“I’ve been working on a tribute collection for our former librarian. It’s a carefully curated collection of books that were, um, of a type he favoured.”

Cassandra had spots of colour high on her cheeks. “Is that the rare, annotated edition of _Swords and Shields_? I heard it had an in-depth analysis of the famous scene with the Knight-Captain, the watermelon, and the fabled map to the Lost Treasure of Starkhaven.”

Dorian coughed delicately.

“Not that I would be interested to read such a thing,” Cassandra said with profound nonchalance. “Do you have a section on Chantry history I may peruse?”

Maggie walked over and picked up the special edition of _Swords and Shields_. “Would you like to borrow this while you are here?”

Cassandra scowled faintly.

Maggie gave her a winning smile. “I promise I would never judge your reading choices, it’s the Librarian Code. We like to make people happy through the mighty power of literature.”

“Smutty literature,” said Dorian.

The Seeker looked like she was wavering.

“I’ve read it. So has Alistair, as it happens.”

Cassandra brightened considerably. “The King has read it? And you?” She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “What did you think about the Knight-Captain’s choice of attire for the ball?”

Maggie smiled and passed Cassandra the book. “The pea-green velvet was a bold choice. I’m not sure she needed all those nugs carrying the train of her dress in their mouths though.”

“Oh no, but the nugs were an allegory for the futility of her continuing to resist the advances of the guardsman.”

“She didn’t do a lot of resisting that I read.”

“But that’s her emotional journey!”

Dorian made a rude noise and stood up. “Let’s go to dinner, ladies. Book club can be for dessert!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the risk of sounding like a giant nerd (which is actually fine, I am a giant nerd!), the term ‘bromance’ didn’t come into popular culture until 2005. Yes, I do google some words to make sure someone from 1999 would use them (most notably, ‘clusterfuck’ was apparently in use in the 90’s, though I don’t remember knowing it until maybe 2004 or so). Anyway, I’m taking liberties with Maggie knowing the word ‘bromance’, but hey, maybe she’s an early adopter and ahead of the trend!
> 
> The Inquisition characters (and cats!) will all appear in my next long fic, The Price of War, which I will start posting when I have a few more chapters written for it. It takes place at Haven then Skyhold and it is set in this universe, though over a longer time period than this story. It follows a woman working as an Inquisition healer.
> 
> Also, Dorian is totally a Cullistair shipper!


	18. Chapter 18

M.M.,

Jader peace talks are ~~long~~ going okay. All that study seems to have paid off because I used the correct spoon to eat my ~~klafoo~~ clafoutis. Celene’s Ladies in Waiting almost fainted when they saw me eat it correctly.

I saw a cute puppy this morning, and it ran off with the decorative buckle from Lord de Riicantremembertherest’s shoe. That was the highlight of the negotiations. Buffy is cuter than that puppy though.

I just realised I’ve never written a love letter before. Is this a love letter? I think this is a love letter.

Hopefully we’ll be finished here soon because I miss you.

A.T.

 

***

 

Dear Alistair,

Thank you for your excellent love letter. I think Eamon read it first, so I’m slightly disappointed you didn’t get someone to include a nude drawing of you to scandalise him. Something to consider for next time!

Things are fine here. I’ve been doing that research with Dorian, but we haven’t had any major breakthroughs. Inquisitor Della Cadash is great fun, she taught me five different swear words in dwarven. I look forward to impressing you with them when you get back. She let me touch that glowing mark on her hand too, it was… crackly. She used it to close the rift I fell out of, so the local demon population has apparently fallen dramatically. Cassandra and Varric have been spending a lot of time in the library with Dorian and I. Varric promised to send his complete literary works for the library collection.

Miss you.

Maggie

 

***

 

M.M.,

I’m not sending you any nude drawings of myself!

Glad things are otherwise okay in Denerim and that you are now in less danger from demons. Tell Dorian not to drink all my best wine, I need that for when I have to deal with surly diplomats.

I’m not allowed to discuss specifics of ongoing negotiations, for obvious reasons, but let me tell you my dessert spoon game is going from strength to strength. I’m also close to being able to pronounce ~~Kwi~~ Kouign-amann, which, by the way, is completely delicious.

Miss you, wish I could kiss you.

A.T.

 

***

 

Alistair,

If Eamon mentions how Buffy peed on his boots, I swear it was unintentional. On my part anyway. He shouldn’t have called her ‘unwholesomely mottled in colour’ to her face.

I reckon Roh has a crush on Varric’s crossbow, Bianca. He let her touch the stock. I thought she was going to cry with joy.

Research is making some progress. Kind of? We might know how to work… things, but it requires a component that is currently missing.

Dorian and Della have indeed been drinking all your wine. She says since she’s the Inquisitor she counts as a surly diplomat. He said he deserves it.

Miss you lots,

Maggie

 

***

 

M.M.,

I can replace the wine, but please get Cook to hide my cheese stash from them. Also give Buffy an extra pat from me….

We had an afternoon off, so Rory snuck me into a local bookshop. Expect a crate of books to arrive at some point before I get back. Mostly more adventure stories and military histories. The one about indigenous flowers of Ferelden is for you to keep for yourself, the illustrations are very beautiful and therefore reminded me of you. I also found a recipe book called _Tipping the Velvet: Cobbling Peaches and Stewing Apricots_ , so, Maker help me, I bought that one too. I blame you!

Well done on the research.

Miss you lots and lots and lots,

A.T.

 

***

 

Alistair,

I look forward to the books! Thank you in advance for the gift. Well done on your brave foray into culinary erotica too. Which reminds me, you never did give _Seeking the Pearl_ back for me to shelve.

We had a leaving party for the Inquisition. Nothing too scandalous happened. I absolutely did not get drunk and hold a (fully clothed) dramatic interpretation of _Swords and Shields_ on one of the tavern tables with Roh. Okay yes, maybe I did, but I’m told by Cassandra that my portrayal of the Knight-Captain was both spirited and tender. Eliza seemed very taken with Roh as the guardsman. Dorian also bought the house down with his depiction of a nug attendant.

Speaking of Dorian, he’s left me with enough research to be getting on with, to confirm our theory. One item is of particular interest, but I’ve left it somewhere for safekeeping.

Anyway, it was a fun night. Lucky Emmie gave me a healing potion this morning, because boy did my head hurt.

Miss you to the moons and back,

Maggie

 

***

 

M.M.,

I applaud your theatrical efforts. Would it be wrong of me to say I wish I’d witnessed your and Lady Rohlessa’s interpretation of _Swords and Shields_?

Don’t worry, I’m joking.

Mostly.

On a related note, I’m still ~~looking at the pictures~~ reading _Seeking the Pearl_ …. I’ll consider giving it back when I return.

I’m the first to admit diplomacy isn’t my strong point. I don’t have any follow up to that, it just made me feel better to write it down.

A.T.

 

***

 

Alistair,

I know you don’t like diplomacy, but you’ve been away for three weeks, and remember what we are going to do when you come home?

Yes.

That.

There are only so many practice dummies a girl can eviscerate before she starts getting banned from the training yard.

Remember, declaring war on Orlais is always an option.

Miss you very very (very!) much.

Maggie

 

***

 

M.M.,

Maker’s breath. I remember. That is not something I’m likely to forget!

You’ll be pleased to know we’re close to terms with Orlais. No wars needed!

I think about you all the time. I can’t wait to have you back in my arms.

A.T.

 

***

 

Alistair,

I’m glad you remember. Thinking about you is very distracting.

Roh said today that she and Eliza will be going to join the Inquisition. Along with her sister Elinor. You remember, the mean one? Apparently, they need skilled scouts, and they considered all three women good enough for recruitment. I’ll miss Roh and Eliza, but I’m happy for Roh’s sake that she’ll be able to do something other than hang around here getting bored.

[ _a large blot of ink is on the letter._ ]

Mistress Torwin just came in to say there have been some strange noises reported in the library and could I please go and investigate. Intriguing! I’ll let you know what it was when I get back.

 

[ _Letter ends here._ ]


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lil' sis, [Delmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delmire/pseuds/Delmire) the Proper Writer for going over my chapter for me.

A tall elven man wearing a palace guards’ uniform was standing to attention outside Maggie’s room. Eliza had recommended him as her temporary bodyguard while they waited for Buffy to reach adulthood and assume the position.

Maggie smiled up at him as she, Mistress Torwin, and Buffy left her room. “Cedric, would you mind going to fetch Lady Roh and Eliza? Please ask them to meet us in the library.”

Cedric looked troubled. “Lady Maggie, my orders are to stay with you.”

“We’re just going to the library.” Maggie dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “If you meet us there with the ladies, we can all search for the noises. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Buffy jumped on the spot at the word ‘library’. It was her favourite room, home of tasty cheese snacks and belly rubs in front of the fireplace.

Maggie headed off towards the library, not checking to see if Cedric had done as asked. She and Mistress Torwin walked in silence, punctuated only by the seneschal issuing quiet orders to some staff they passed.

Maggie opened the library door, gesturing to Mistress Torwin to go inside, then shut it behind them.

She wrinkled her nose. “The noises are probably only Former Royal Librarian Hubert’s ghost, come to reclaim his Sex Desk.”

Mistress Torwin looked profoundly unimpressed.

“Too soon?” Maggie paused and looked cautiously around. “Oh my god, you probably have real ghosts here, don’t you?”

Mistress Torwin raised an eyebrow at Maggie.

“Shit. Anyway.” Maggie sighed and tried to pretend that Mistress Torwin found her amusing instead of tiresome. “What were the noises?”

The seneschal pursed her lips. “One of my maids reported banging in the library.”

Maggie perked up. “Oh, so exactly like when Former Royal Librarian Hubert worked in here,” she said, cheerfully.

Mistress Torwin’s expression didn’t change at all. “Callie was in here cleaning, and she said she heard banging noises from the direction of the bookcases.”

“There are bookcases against every wall.” Maggie looked around the room. It looked normal, nothing was out of place and it was quiet. “Did she say which ones?”

“No, just that there were noises.”

“Hmm.”

A young maid came running into the library. “Mistress Torwin,” she said, panting and red faced, “Callie is in the great hall. She was cleaning up after lunch but now she won’t stop screaming and her nose is bleeding everywhere.”

Mistress Torwin looked at Maggie.

Maggie waved her hand at the door. “You go. Buffy and I are fine, and we’ll check out the bookcases when the others get here.”

Mistress Torwin nodded and hurried off, sweeping the little maid along as she went.

Maggie sat down at one of the tables and rested her chin on her hand. Buffy whined and looked around.

“What’s wrong, baby girl?” Maggie reached over to pat the puppy, who jerked her head out from Maggie’s hand and stared intently at the far wall.

_Fuck. This seems like an excellent time to wait OUTSIDE the library for back up…._

As Maggie stood up to leave, there was a shimmering in the air where Buffy had been staring. Delia stepped out of thin air. The younger woman had soiled her dress down the front, and her hair was lank and unwashed. She gave Maggie and Buffy a small tight smile.

“Oh my god, where have you been?” Maggie said, taking a step towards her.

Delia started rocking back and forwards from her heels to her toes, still smiling faintly. Buffy’s hackles rose, and she growled fiercely at her. The pup began to advance towards the newcomer.

The former library assistant made a casual gesture in their direction and Buffy collapsed on the ground, silent and still.

“What the fuck, Delia? What have you done to her?” Grief ripped through Maggie’s chest and she dropped to her knees beside the puppy.

Delia’s expression softened a little. “I wouldn’t hurt the tiny Mabari. She is merely asleep.”

Maggie checked Buffy who was indeed breathing still, just unconscious. She ignored the other woman and scooped the puppy into her arms, staggering under Buffy’s not inconsiderable weight. She moved the pup over to the couch and laid her carefully on a cushion.

“Delia,” said Maggie, manoeuvring so she stood between Delia and Buffy, “what is going on? The guards want to talk to you about the death of your boss.”

Delia snarled, and then schooled her face back into neutrality. “Where has the sister book gone? Fade axial flows have gone awry through your actions.”

“The sister book? The one from Dorian? It’s being stored in secret, Delia, for safekeeping. Why don’t we go and find Eliza? She said you guys are friends, we can all go with you to see the guards.”

“Hubert tried to stop me, but he didn’t see the beauty of the magical currents interwoven through the sparks of life that connect us all. I took your book, and it sang to me, but the song wasn’t strong enough.” Delia twirled her hands around as she spoke. She frowned and looked at Maggie again. “Where is the sister book?”

“You were the one who took my book out of my room?” Maggie shook her head. “The other book is away, Delia, it’s not here. Why don’t we have a nice sit down and talk about it?”

“We don’t need to talk. Take me to the sister book.”

“Why did you take my book? Did Hubert hurt you? Is that what was going on?”

Delia tipped her head back and laughed. “I will pluck out the King’s eyes and tongue before he dies, make you watch as he screams for mercy before the end.” Her voice was soft and mild, like they were discussing biscuit options over a friendly cup of tea.

Maggie backed away a little more, positioning a table between them but still blocking access to Buffy. “What the shit, Delia. This is messed up. If you feel so strongly, I’ll take you to the other book.”

Delia tilted her head to the side and licked her lips. “There are many parts of a man you can cut off before he dies. Humans can be quite resilient if you cauterise the wound to stop the bleeding.”

Fear warred with anger in Maggie. “What are you now, a fucking cartoon villain? You aren’t listening to me. You can have it. Let’s go get it together.” Maggie made a sharp motion towards the door.

Delia seemed lost in her own world, she shut her eyes and swayed on the spot. “Blood is the elixir that binds and links and joins in the sing song shriek of the Fade and the majesty of the falling down targets for his glory and he will cleanse them all in the coming fires of the deepest corners that hold the secrets that cannot be spoken and the creatures who bear no names.”

_Okay, distracted ranting crazy person. Time to grab Buffy and get the hell out of Dodge._

Maggie started to move slowly backwards towards the couch where Buffy was still motionless.

Still with her eyes shut, Delia made a small gesture with her hand and a lightning bolt hit the table nearest the Mabari.

Maggie froze, staring at Delia and holding her breath.

_If randomly appearing from nowhere and sending Buffy to sleep didn’t indicate she was a mage, then chucking lightning around certainly does. Soooo, there you go, Alistair was correct. How the fuck do I deal with an unhinged mage?_

Delia spoke again, opening her eyes and gripping the back of a chair. “A pathway to eternity awaits the most steadfast who are not here in the most sinful place with a King who can stop the Fade song and support the wrong faithful and oh how there are so many songs that all interweave with the bright colours and fierce beauty of eternal endless faded all for her in those quiet places in the mind where they chant and no person hears where they will bathe the world in blood and pain and everlasting splendour.”

Maggie’s voice was quiet and terse. “Delia, seriously. I said I’d take you to the book. No one needs to get hurt.”

There was a lengthy silence. Delia was staring off into nothing, the way that cats would stare at an invisible spot. Maggie remained motionless, watching Delia.

The young library assistant seemed to come back to reality. She shook her head a little and frowned at Maggie. “This is a trick. You can’t just happily hand over the book.”

Maggie barked a laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to continue monologuing your threats and speeches? There is no fucking trick. What the fuck to you expect? That I hold out, so you can go full Hannibal Lector on us? You can have both the bloody books. I don’t want to go back to my world, anyway. Fucking take the books. Go be free. Live your life.”

Delia took a step towards Maggie and gave her a terrifyingly calm smile. “You are friends with Lady Rohlessa. Perhaps I could make a pile of her entrails in front of the shrine you have organised for my former employer.”

“We seem to be having very different conversations here,” Maggie said, gritting her teeth and breathing heavily through her nose. “I don’t want you to hurt anyone. I want to stay in Ferelden. You’re welcome to both the fucking books.”

Delia looked around like she expected an ambush. “You’re lying.”

Maggie lost her temper. “TAKE THE FUCKING SISTER BOOK,” she shouted, then dug her fingernails into her palm and tried to regain some semblance of calm. “Keep the fucking book you stole from me. I don’t want anyone to get hurt and I want to stay here in Thedas. I’m not stopping you leaving. Why does everyone assume I’ll want to find a way home? Fuck that place. There is pollution, and guns and, and… fucking giant huntsman spiders, and no one that I love. Everyone I love is here in Thedas and I’ll stay the fuck here, thank you very much.” 

“So, I can have the sister book?”

“For the love of… yes, Delia, yes. You can have the bloody thing.”

Delia clasped her hands together and looked joyful. “We shall spread the word of the Elder One to your world and all shall rejoice in the coming of our master.”

Maggie’s mouth fell open, and she blinked rapidly.

_Well, shit_.

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait just a minute there. The Elder One? As in, Corypheus? And my world?”

Delia nodded eagerly. “He knows of the connections between worlds through the Fade. He says your world has wonders beyond our wildest imaginings and he will reward anyone who can provide access to it.”

_Fuck. Fucking… fuck. Okay, stall for time. Roh, Eliza and Cedric are on their way, they can help me stop this crazy._

“Well, ah, wow, that sounds really interesting. Could you not manage it with just my book from Earth?”

“Something links the books. My research indicates travelling from your world to here is straightforward enough because Thedas is the primary Fade link, but going back requires more effort.”

_Dorian mentioned it might be something like that. Fucked if I’m going to mention that though._

“Oh, that’s fascinating,” Maggie kept her voice soft and nonthreatening. “I’m sure the Elder One is proud of you.”

Delia stared off into space again. “He came into my dreams and saw how hard I have worked on my research. He was the only one to notice me. His theories on Fade dynamic compression alignments were truly remarkable.”

“I see, I see.”

“Let us go to get the sister book. If you take my hand, I can Fade Step with you. As we travel, you can tell me how you activated your book, because I harvested Hubert’s life force and that simply wasn’t enough. Who did you kill?”

Maggie clenched her fists. “I didn’t get here through murder. I was translating some text and drinking a cup of tea on New Year’s Eve then, boom, I was in the Fade.”

“You’re not telling me everything. You can trust me. Who did you kill?” Delia grinned and held out her hand to Maggie in a sick parody of friendship.

“I didn’t kill anyone! That’s fucked up, only crazy people just go about murdering other people.”

_Smooth Maggie, just go ahead and further piss off the crazy person._

Delia’s expression clouded with anger. “If you insist on lying to me, that‘s fine. Let’s go.”

Maggie covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “Shit, Delia, I can’t let you fuck up my world.”

“You just said I could have the sister book,” Delia said, with a look of confusion.

“There is a huge difference between you just having both books to research and you having the ability to send a fucked up demon god creature back to destroy my world,” said Maggie, holding herself very still and watching Delia’s movements intently.

“So be it,” said Delia in her quiet voice.

Delia gestured, and a creature appeared beside her. They both regarded Maggie. The top half of the creature’s face had holes that might have been eyes, but they were black and expressionless, like the cold alien eyes of a great white shark. It had two rows of teeth in a small mouth, with an unhinged extra jaw filled with rows of moist and dripping teeth underneath and against its chest.

It was like the beast she’d thrown a rock at on the day she’d met Alistair; a terror demon she knew now. They were outside then, and she hadn’t noticed the smell. The stench rolled in fetid waves off this demon, trapped together in the library as they were. A miasma akin to sharp ozone with an undertone of rotten meat made her stomach churn.

All the horrors that prowled her nightmares were skittering around the edges of her thoughts.

Her heart was racing, like it would when she looked up at the ceiling in her apartment and a huntsman spider the size of her hand would be lurking along the edge between the wall and the ceiling. She would always freeze and wonder about her options for removing the creature from her space.

Her current options seemed to grow dimmer now as her sight blurred, the library more enclosed and the stench of the creature more overwhelming.

The sensation of spiders crawling up her neck and ghosting the edge of her hair sent a shiver through Maggie, the hairs on their imaginary legs catching in the wisps that had escaped from her braid. She blinked at Delia and the demon to clear her vision. The spindly creature was inching towards her, its extra jaw flopping languidly against its chest.

Maggie could hear Delia humming to herself. She rubbed the back of her neck where tickling spider legs persisted.

_Focus on something else_ , she thought dimly, _don’t let the terror defeat you_.

There was no way she would survive an attack by both a demon and a mage, but if she could incapacitate Delia, she might stand a chance against the demon. Maggie caught a flash of ginger out of the corner of her eye.

_Edith is in here? Shit, I can’t let her or Buffy get hurt either._

Maggie edged her way towards Former Royal Librarian Hubert’s desk, the one that Alistair still hadn’t removed. Probably because Edith was so fond of rolling on it.

“Delia, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings and fibbed, would you like to come to see the sister book now?” Maggie lied, breathing carefully and focusing past the terror.

Delia rolled her eyes up to gaze at the ceiling, rocking her head from side to side. “I didn’t want to hurt you, only those close to you, but the Fade coefficients are not on your side, Margaret of Sydney, they are not on your side at all today, so I think I must sizzle your skin right off your flesh.”

_How does she know about Sydney?_

A bolt of lightning arched through the library, over the desk and past her arm. Maggie flinched as the hairs on her arms stood on end. A large and heavy looking book flew off the desk and landed at her feet.

The ginger flash resolved itself into the sturdy form of Edith, launching herself at Delia’s head. Without hesitation, Maggie bent down to pick up the book and threw it at the terror demon.

The title was _Giant Sausages of Orlais,_ she noticed as it sailed off towards the demon.

“At this point they aren’t even trying with those titles,” Maggie muttered as the book connected with the demon and the creature disappeared.

She ran towards Delia, who was trying to fend off the fluffy orange cat. Edith frantically scratched at Delia’s face and neck, yowling and shedding puffs of fur in her fury. Maggie was almost sorry for the younger woman. Almost. The mage fired lightning bolts wildly around the room and fear for the unmoving and vulnerable Buffy jabbed Maggie’s heart. The room was getting a sharp and damp odour, like after a thunderstorm.

She drew her dagger and reversed the grip. Edith sprang off Delia and on to a nearby table as Maggie reached them, stumbling over chairs in her haste. Delia staggered and made an unholy keening noise, holding her hands up to her bleeding face. Maggie hit behind her ear with the hilt of the dagger, and Delia collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

“That’s becoming my signature move,” Maggie said to Edith, who was standing stiffly and twitching her tail. “You were fantastic, by the way, nice work.”

The floor underneath Maggie’s feet began to bubble, the carpet popping up like hairy red bubble-gum.

“Oh shit.”

Edith streaked across the room, toward Buffy’s couch. Maggie tried to move away from the writhing patch of floor, but she could hardly keep her feet. Delia’s insensible form was getting tossed about like a piece of flotsam. The terror crept back, and the fear trickled in the edges of her consciousness, the phantom spider legs caressed back of her neck.

She was thrown back against the nearest bookcase as the ground erupted in a sizzle of Fade energy and the terror demon reappeared. Delia hit the bookcase beside her, head cracking on a shelf, her face a mask of blood from the scratches.

The demon screamed at Maggie and a wave of fetid spittle and horror hit her. She leaned back against the bookcase and held up her dagger in her shaking hand.

“Go on, bring it, you creepy fucking wanker.”

_Nice one Maggie_ , she thought blearily, _was that really the best insult you could throw in the face of your imminent death?_

The demon jumped at her, like a modestly limbed huntsman spider. All the lifeless eyes seemed to be focused on her, searching out her deepest fears.

She dodged the swipe of its claws and used her momentum to slash at its side with her dagger. Hitting the nearest table, she pushed herself off and back at the demon sending them both onto the ground. It was like straddling a giant stick insect, dry and knobbly, but with its gaping maw flinging foul saliva across everything it touched. The demon abruptly vanished, and the carpet beneath her knees began writhing. The force pushed Maggie off to the side in a crumpled heap.

The demon reappeared a short distance away, ignoring her in favour of taking a step towards Buffy’s couch. Maggie could see that Edith had positioned herself in front of the puppy, on her tiptoes with back arched and fur fully puffed out. The cat drew her lips back in a silent snarl as she stared unblinkingly at the demon.

Maggie ran and threw herself at it, sinking her dagger into its back. A dry puff of stench threatened to choke her. The creature screamed, arching its back, the conical protuberance of its skull almost hitting her own head. She pulled her dagger out and stabbed it again, this time through the parched leather of its side. A flailing arm smacked her in the nose and she yelped with pain and staggered backwards, clutching her dagger.

The demon spun back to her and screamed in her face, catching her on the left shoulder with its spindly arm.

Her shoulder felt like someone had smashed it with a boulder, but Maggie gritted her teeth and jumped towards the creature again.

“JUST FUCKING DIE, YOU FOUL BEAST,” she screamed back and stabbed into one of its eyes.

A dark brown ichor came spewing out of the eye socket, over the dagger and her hand. She gagged at the putrid stink, but withdrew the dagger and stabbed at another eye, causing another gush of noisome liquid to splash on her.

Maggie grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself as the creature fell to the ground, all limbs and teeth and flaking chunks of skin. She stood silently as it crumbled into dust, the blood from her nose dripping onto its scattered remains.

Maggie wiped her nose on the back of her hand, then tottered over to Delia’s unconscious form and sat heavily on the ground beside her.

“Always with the fucking bleeding noses,” she muttered darkly.

She checked to make sure Delia was still breathing, then tore a large strip off her dress, hog-tying the mage up and gagging her for good measure. She groaned with the pain the movement caused for her sore shoulder, which had swollen up where the demon had hit it.

Maggie wadded another strip of cloth up for her nose to bleed on and walked unsteadily over to the couch where Buffy was stirring from her slumber. Edith was still standing guard, occasionally bending down to lick the puppy’s face.

“Well, it turns out you are actually a total badass, Edith. What are you really, a shapeshifted Mabari? Magical creature? Spirit?”

Edith regarded Maggie impassively, then turned her back, stuck her leg in the air, and vigorously began to groom it.

“Okay then. Definitely a cat.”

Maggie leaned back against the back of the couch and rested her hand gently on Buffy’s side. The puppy whined quietly and groggily sat up.

“I need to fetch us some help, ladies. Fucked if I know what would happen if Delia woke up.”

The door to the library was flung open and Roh, Eliza, and Cedric ran in.

Maggie waved at them then pointed over at Delia. “Do you guys know what to do with mages? Because I have no fucking clue. She killed Hubert and summoned a demon and can do some magical travelling thing. We need to do whatever it is we do with insane mages. Except give her to any templars. Those guys are dicks.” She let her head flop backwards shutting her eyes as she held the cloth up to her nose.

Maggie perceived voices and movement, but she concentrated on breathing and trying to slow the thundering of her heart.

_I’m alive and I killed a fucking demon. Holy shit._

She felt a cool hand place itself across her forehead. “Andraste’s quivering buttocks, Maggie,” she heard Roh’s voice say, “you smell like shit and you look like shit.”

Maggie opened one eye. Roh was leaning over her, looking concerned. Nausea swamped her, cold prickly sweat on the back of her neck an uncomfortable reminder of the demon. She slumped forward and vomited profusely on the floor.

Roh cursed and jumped nimbly backwards. “I need your jacket,” she said, waggling her fingers at Cedric, who had been hovering uncertainly nearby as Eliza examined Delia.

Maggie sat up, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, as Roh unceremoniously laid Cedric’s jacket over the puddle of vomit.

“We’ll deal with that later,” said Roh, ignoring Cedric’s feeble protests.

“Magebane,” said Eliza to Cedric. “Run as fast as you can to the healers and get some off them. We need to stop Delia from casting spells if she wakes up. And get someone to find Eamon, we probably need him to have the final say about what we do with her.”

Maggie flopped back and shut her eyes again. A person, presumably Roh, sat beside her and took her hand.

“Here,” said Roh’s voice, “drink this.”

Maggie felt something cold being pressed against her lips, so she obligingly opened her mouth. She got a mouthful of strong alcohol, which she swallowed then coughed. She opened her eyes to scowl at Roh, who looked unrepentant.

“Ansberg Firewater,” said Roh. “It’ll help. Technically it’s illegal though so don’t tell your boyfriend.”

“Does everyone here always carry alcohol around?”

Roh shrugged and took a swig herself. “It’s only the King who carries cheese around. The rest of us have hipflasks.”

Maggie smiled at her. “I don’t have a hipflask, all I carry around is Buffy’s Forbidden Jerky.” At the sound of her name the puppy whined and clambered up into Maggie’s lap.

After a few minutes Cedric came back holding a flask filled with a pale blue liquid, with Eamon and a large group of guards hot on his heels.

Roh got up and walked over to where Eliza was pouring the potion down Delia’s throat. Both women conferred with Eamon and one of the guards in low voices. Maggie shut her eyes again and stroked Buffy. Edith stayed near them, silent and watchful.

“We can take her to the Inquisition when we go.” Maggie heard Roh say. “They are the ones who deal with rogue mages now.”

Eamon spoke next. “I agree, but move her to the dungeons for now, the King will be back in the next few days. He can decide what we do with her then.”

Maggie sat up and opened her eyes. “He’s almost back?” Her voice rose to a squeak.

Eamon’s lips twitched. “Apparently they are making record time for the trip from Jader to Denerim. I received a raven this morning. He seems very motivated for some reason.”

Roh appeared to be covering laughter with a cough. Maggie noticed Eliza giving her a solid kick on the ankle.

“Come on Maggie,” said Roh, blowing her girlfriend a kiss and walking towards Maggie’s couch. “I’ll take you to get a potion from the healers. We need you to be fighting fit for when the King gets back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've lived in Australia for 12 years and omg I'll never get used to the spiders! Hold your hand up and wiggle your fingers and you'll get an idea about what size we have to deal with....


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the updated tags! I also upped the fic rating to E, just to be safe. 
> 
> Feel free to skip this chapter if Adult Content isn't your thing, I'll provide a summary at the start of Ch 21!

Maggie squinted at her pile of cataloguing under the lamplight. She should do the sensible grown-up thing and go to bed, since it was mid-evening, but she was restless after encountering Delia and the demon the previous day. She’d spent the day flitting from one task to another, unable to settle on any one thing. The knowledge that Alistair was on his way back to Denerim gave her butterflies as well, her mind was roiling with the thought of being close to him again, and she couldn’t keep still for any length of time.

Her bodyguard Cedric was sitting at the end of her table, reading a book on the history of the Ash Warriors that Maggie had found for him. He had benefitted from Alistair’s requirement that all palace staff have the opportunity to learn to read and was almost fluent at it.

She lifted _Crafting with Mabari Fur_ from the top of the pile and scowled at it.

“How does that even work?” Maggie muttered, grabbing a fresh catalogue card and dipping her quill in ink. “Their fur is so short.”

Absorbed in his book, Cedric gave a small grunt of acknowledgement but didn’t speak.

Curious, she began flicking through the book.

“Oh, I see how they do that, it’s…” Maggie looked up as the library door opened.

Alistair strode in to the room, wearing his travelling clothes, looking tired and slightly grimy.

Maggie squeaked and said, “felting.” She jumped up and ran towards him.

“I’m sorry, but did you say ‘felting’?” Alistair gave her a quizzical look.

Maggie flung herself into his arms and he let out an “ooof” noise as she collided with him.

“It’s how you do crafts with Mabari fur,” said Maggie, cupping his face in her hands and grinning at him.

“You know, that doesn’t really clear anything up.” Alistair’s eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled back at her.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, standing on her tiptoes and pulling his head down so they were nose to nose, “it’ll make sense when I make us matching Buffy-fur friendship bracelets.”

She tilted her head and brushed her lips against his. His arms tightened to pull her flush against his body and he kissed her back.

Maggie heard Cedric’s voice say, “Well yes I’ll, um, be outside the door with the royal guards.” She let go of Alistair with her left hand and gave a thumbs up in the direction of the voice, but didn’t break the kiss.

They both pulled back, panting, but stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“I missed you so much,” Maggie murmured.

“Mmm I missed you too,” said Alistair, gazing at her face like he was trying to memorise every part of it. “I saw Uncle Eamon briefly when I arrived a short time ago, and he mentioned what happened in here yesterday. He was quite impressed you killed a Terror demon. Maker’s breath, I’m very impressed you killed a Terror demon. I swear I saw Rory wiping a tear of pride from his eye when Eamon told us about it.”

Maggie snorted a laugh and shrugged. “It was it or me, my options were rather limited. Edith was the real hero, she distracted Delia and guarded Buffy.”

Alistair kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m proud of you both. I wish I’d been there to watch you in action. Wellll, help too, but also watch you. In action. Against the demon.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Were you hurt?”

“Only my nose and shoulder. I had a healing potion so I’m fine, only a bit bruised.” Maggie ran her thumb over his lips. “What about you? Everyone thought you’d be back tomorrow at the earliest.”

He traced the edges of her hairline with his fingertips. “I missed you too much. Rory wanted to stop for the night, but I wanted to push on. In related news, I owe him a cask of ale for his graceful compliance.”

“Excellent decision.”

“I’m sorry I’m still wearing my travelling gear. I came straight here rather than calling past my rooms.”

“I’m glad you did. You are charmingly sweaty.” Maggie stroked her fingers through his ruffled hair.

He laughed and lowered his lips to hers again.

They kissed with increasing urgency. Maggie could feel he was hard in his breeches and he made a small noise of pleasure as she rubbed herself against him. Desire pooled low in her belly, and she gripped the lapels of his jacket.

“Do you want to move this to my quarters?” he murmured in her ear.

“Your quarters? Not mine?”

“I have a private bathing room, remember?”

“Okay yes, fair point. Well. We could spend all that extra time going to your quarters, talking to people in the hallways, dealing with the inevitable urgent King stuff,” Maggie said, turning her head to press her lips against his cheek, breathing in the comforting and familiar smell of him, “or we could move to the couch over there and I could ride your cock.”

Alistair’s arms tightened at her words and he pulled his head back a little to look at her, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Interesting idea. We’d have to stay mostly dressed in case someone comes to the door.”

“Well you’re easy,” she said, nodding down at his breeches, “and the skirt of my dress obviously lifts up.” She paused, grinning at him. “And the top of the dress unlaces at the front.” She ran a finger slowly over the lacings across her breasts to emphasise her point.

Alistair’s eyes widened considerably, fixed on the movement of her finger. “Okay yes, we could do that,” he said, still with a small smile on his face, reaching down to take her free hand, “but I have one request.”

Maggie smiled back and nuzzled the stubble on his jaw. “What’s that?”

He licked his lips. “That I get to taste you first.”

Maggie stared at his mouth. “You get to… oh. Ohhhh.” Her eyes widened as well, and she made a small, aroused, squeaking noise.

“Is that a yes?” He leaned forward and gently kissed her lips again.

“Holy fuck. That’s most definitely a yes,” whispered Maggie against his mouth.

Alistair squeezed her hand then walked over to the door. He stuck his head out and said something to the guards.

He walked back to her whilst shucking off his travel stained leather jacket. He hung it over the back of a chair and loosened the laces of his linen shirt. “I asked them to knock and wait if anything urgent requires my attention, and the door stays shut unless we say otherwise.”

Maggie’s heart beat faster as he came close to her. “Good idea.”

He gathered her into his arms again. “Soooo,” he murmured, nibbling on her earlobe, “the couch?”

A whisper of nervousness momentarily interrupted the excitement and lust. She held her breath and buried her face in his neck to cover it.

_Oh my god it’s finally happening. I want him so much._

_Shit, what if the sex is awkward and bad though?_

_What if he thinks my boobs are weird looking?_

_What about all the body hair? I’m like a fucking ginger gorilla. I should have asked if people ever wax here._

_Okay, calm the fuck down, Maggie. He’s not going to judge what I look like. He’s probably nervous too. It’s been a far longer dry spell for him than it has for me._

Maggie cleared her throat, steadied her breath, and leaned into his embrace. “I know it’s not ideal, but the couch seemed more comfortable than the tables, or Hubert’s old desk.”

Alistair froze. “Oh, Maker’s breath,” he muttered, looking over her shoulder at the desk, “not that blasted desk.”

“Not the desk! Don’t worry.” She looked up at him. He was still eyeing the desk dubiously. “Are you nervous?” she blurted.

He looked into her eyes and smiled. “Yes. By the Maker, yes. But I love you so much and I want to be with you, like… ah, that.”

There was a rushing sound in her ears at his words and she clutched the front of his shirt with both hands, staring wildly up at him.

“I. Yes. Fuck. Yes. Also.” Her voice cracked, and she took a fortifying breath. “Oh Alistair, I love you too.”

_Well done Maggie, always so smooth._

She gave a mental middle finger to her inner monologue and used the leverage on his shirt to pull him closer to kiss passionately again. He carefully walked her backwards to the couch, only breaking the kiss when they reached it. She kicked off her soft indoor shoes as he sat down then she knelt to help him with his travelling boots.

“You know I might have smelled nicer if you’d allowed me to have a bath first,” he murmured, grinning at her.

She tugged the first boot off and threw it blindly behind her, then ostentatiously sniffed the air, smiling back at him. “You smell fine. Like leather, horses, and elfroot powder. Maybe a little mud. It’s very manly.”

He pulled the other boot off himself, throwing it towards where the first one had landed near the bookcase devoted to Mabari training and exotic nug husbandry.

“I suppose this way we can bathe together after we, um, finish off in here.”

Maggie nodded eagerly. She stood up, then sat down on his lap, straddling him, her skirts bunched around her thighs. “That would be lovely.”

He ran his hands up and down her sides, more firmly over her clothes and softer over her bared legs. With shaking hands, she began to loosen the laces at the front of her dress. Alistair made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat and watched her every move. He tugged on the sides of the loosened bodice, so they flapped free just below chest level. He sat back and regarded the regrettably chunky white garment with reinforced stitching that passed as a brassiere in Maggie’s wardrobe.

“Maker’s breath, did Mistress Torwin give you this to wear? Do I need to have a word with her?”

Maggie snorted. “Nah, Emmie procured this one for me. This is obviously one step up from the usual flimsy breastband that people wear here. Kind of an industrial strength version for tits that the standard method won’t contain.”

“Hmm. Well I, um, think anything you wear looks perfect.” Alistair cupped one breast in each hand, rubbing her hard nipples through the fabric with his thumbs. “Can I unlace it?”

Maggie sighed in pleasure as he tenderly touched her. “It unlaces under my arms,” she murmured.

She lifted her arms enough to allow him access, letting him slide his hands either side of her chest. He undid the knots and loosened the ties, frowning in concentration. He pulled the fabric out and up, giving a small “Hah!” of triumph as it slid easily over her breasts, leaving her bare to him.

Maggie huffed a laugh at his excitement. “Well done,” she said lightly.

He reverently ran his fingers over her naked breasts. “You are so, so beautiful.”

She shut her eyes and concentrated on the sensation of his sword calloused hands stroking her soft skin. She rolled her hips against the hardness in his breeches, causing him to moan and pinch her nipples in response.

“Yes,” Maggie hissed, “like that.”

Alistair surged forward to grab her and twisted them both sideways to lie on the couch with him above her. He moved down, trailing his lips over her neck then back to her breast and took a nipple in his mouth, laving it with his tongue as he resumed rolling the other with his fingertips

She cried out as the pleasure shot from her breasts straight down between her legs. The seat wasn’t large, so he had to be right above her, his weight pressing her back into the softness of the cushioned seat. His body pinned most of her, except her arms, and she stroked her fingers through his sweat spiked hair then over his ears and neck.

Still suckling on her nipple his hand roamed down her body again, along her thigh and under her dress. He ran a fingertip along the edge of her damp smallclothes and Maggie whined, instinctively bucking her hips up towards his hand. Alistair let her nipple slip out of his mouth and he shimmied down the couch, bracing a leg on the ground. He pulled her legs over his shoulders, giving her an affectionate gentle bite on the inside of her thigh.

“Oh shit,” Maggie said urgently, suddenly remembering she’d been sitting on this very spot after the fight the previous day.

Alistair looked up at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Yesterday I vomited on the floor down this end, where your knee is. Maybe we should swap ends? I mean someone has cleaned it, but I don’t think that rug will ever be quite the same.”

Alistair snorted a laugh and stood up, awkwardly adjusting his breeches at the front. Maggie shuffled around so she was facing the other direction on the seat. Her skirts tangled around her legs as she moved, and she swore as she attempted to set them to rights. Alistair knelt between her legs again but with hands either side of her head. They made eye contact, then both dissolved into giggles.

“I’m sorry I spewed on the rug,” said Maggie, between giggles.

“It happens to all warriors from time to time.” Alistair peppered her jaw with kisses and squeezed a bare breast again.

“The Warrior Librarian,” Maggie said, gasping a little as he pinched her nipple, “I like the sound of that.”

“I’m sure we can find an even better title for you,” Alistair murmured, and kissed her mouth again.

Maggie ran her tongue along his bottom lip then tangled it with his as he opened his mouth to allow her access. Her hands roamed around the parts of his skin within reach, on his neck and a little under his shirt. He moved back to the same position between her legs with his knee on the cleaner part of the rug. He stroked up her thighs, and pushed her dress up to her waist, ghosting his hands over the soft skin of her stomach.

“I’m sorry my legs are so hairy,” Maggie said abruptly.

Alistair blinked in surprise. He sat back a little and inspected her now totally exposed leg, pressing a tender kiss to her hairy ankle, and grinning at her.

“They look perfect to me. You’re a human, not an elf. You’re supposed to have hair there.”

Maggie squirmed. “Where I’m from, we usually remove it.”

“Sounds Orlesian. I don’t think I’d want to do that.”

“Oh, it’s usually only women.”

He was kissing around her ankle and under her foot. “You come from a very odd place. Why would you need to do that?”

Maggie frowned at the leg that Alistair was holding. “You know, I never questioned it. Smooth legs are considered more beautiful so everyone just… does.” She paused, wrinkling her nose. “I’m sorry, I’m babbling. I’m still a bit nervous. Please do carry on.”

Alistair hummed and bent forward to nibble kisses up her calf then her inner thigh. He rested a hand lightly on the ties to her smallclothes and looked up at her face. “May I?”

“Oh, fuck yes.” Maggie felt a pang of self-consciousness, but Alistair had the expression of someone who was unwrapping a highly anticipated Christmas present. He untied her smallclothes, pulled them off, and threw them over his shoulder.

He kissed the inside of her thigh again, but this time he didn’t stop, moving his mouth over her centre. The ghost of his breath warmed her as he feathered kisses over her most intimate parts.

“I love you,” she heard him whisper, then he licked all the way up her slit. She cried out at the overwhelming rush of sensation and arched her back off the couch, reaching down to tangle both hands in his copper hair.

Maggie had never had anyone go down on her with such enthusiasm. Alistair threw himself into it with evident enjoyment, sliding his tongue inside her then moving up to suck her clit into his mouth. As the pleasure built, he eventually slid two fingers inside her, crooking them up towards her belly button as he flicked his tongue over her clit again.

“Yes, there, there,” she panted, overwhelmed with the sparks of pleasure.

He made a small sound of acknowledgement and slid a third finger inside her. She arched her back and cried out as she came, her hands tightening their grip on his hair.

Maggie sprawled bonelessly on the couch as she tried to catch her breath. She dimly felt Alistair kiss her inner thigh and move to sit back on the seat beside her. He stroked her leg as she stared at the roof and tried to slow down her breathing.

“Can you pull me up?” she rasped. “I’m pretty sure my legs don’t work at the moment.”

He chuckled and pulled her up on his lap to straddle him again and she wrapped her arms around his neck, slumping against him.

“I’m glad you stopped at one,” Maggie murmured, “because part of me wondered if you’d try to get me off eight times in a row like the Knight-Captain from _Swords and Shields_. I think that would probably render me a non-functional mess.”

He smiled against her neck and rubbed his jaw. “Even more than the fact you currently can’t walk?”

Maggie grumbled and pushed herself backwards with wobbly arms, far enough so she could reach his mouth with hers. He tasted of her and their kiss was long and slow. She had an unexpected stab of arousal again at the languid passion of their kiss, the small sounds he made, the musky taste of her wetness from his lips. She snaked a hand down between their bodies as they kissed, impatiently pushing the layers of her skirts aside where they’d bunched at the front. He was rock hard within the constraints of his breeches, and she pressed him with the heel of her hand as he gasped against her mouth.

“Is it okay for me to touch you? It’s been somewhat one sided thus far.”

“Maker, yes you can touch me,” he said, and moaned.

She rubbed along the length of him again and moved to undo his breeches. He leaned back to allow her access. Maggie tried to untie them but couldn’t determine where they unknotted. She shoved more of her skirts aside, flattened down her ‘bra’ where it bunched under her chin, and leaned back to try to get a good view, to no avail.

“You had to wear Chastity Breeches, today of all days.” She paused to kiss him again. “You’re just toying with me.”

“Would you like me to help with that?” he grinned wickedly at her.

“You would find this funny,” she attempted to sound grumpy, but then dissolved into giggles. “Alright, I give up. Undo your pants for me, Your Majesty.”

“Anything for you, My Lady,” he murmured, and easily undid his laces, smirking at her as he did so.

“Show off,” Maggie muttered. She fully opened the breeches and stroked him through his smallclothes. He dropped his head against the back of the couch and his breathing grew more rapid.

Maggie nipped his earlobe.  “You were right about one thing you once mentioned.”

Alistair kept his eyes closed but said, “What was that?”

Maggie stroked him more firmly. “Your royal smallclothes are clearly not silk, but the quality of linen is excellent.”

He laughed and turned his head to kiss her again. They kept kissing as she slipped her hand into the opening in the front of his smallclothes, pushing them back, freeing his thick cock to bounce up and hit his stomach. She worked him between their bodies, pushing his foreskin down and rubbing her thumb over the wetness on the head of his cock as he moaned into her mouth. He ran his hand up her thigh then over her bare bottom and pulled him even closer to him.

“Maggie, I need you,” he whispered.

“Mmm, then you can have me.” She rose up onto her knees and kissed him sloppily, guiding him inside her and sinking down onto him. She tried to whisper his name as he slid slowly inside her, but all that came out was a low whine.

The emotions were overwhelming, even more than when he used his mouth on her. The intimacy was profound, even sitting mostly dressed on a couch in the library, like they were the only people in either of their worlds.

_Ohmygodohmygodohmygod this is finally happening._

_Fuck he feels so, fuck, so fucking good._

Alistair’s breath hitched sharply when he was fully hilted in her and he wrapped his arms firmly around her body. She could barely move her hips because of the way he was clutching her to him. He buried his face in the side of her neck, taking a shuddering breath and she gently stroked his hair. He ran his shaking hands up and down her back.

“We can stop if you need to,” she whispered into his ear.

Alistair shook his head. “Maker’s breath, no, being inside of you is amazing. I just need a moment.”

Little jolts of pleasure were coming from where their bodies joined, but she stayed still and kept running her fingers soothingly through his hair. Finally, he sighed deeply and moved to kiss her again. He tilted his head back and gazed into her eyes.

“Maggie,” he whispered, not breaking eye contact. He slid his hands under her dress and stroked up her bare thighs and against her hips.

She clutched his shoulders and arched her back. Grinding herself against him she tipped her head back and moaned, heedless of who might overhear the noises she made. Her world narrowed down to the tight drag of his cock inside of her, the low groans of pleasure he was making as she rode him, the pressure of his hands clutching her hips, the obscene wet noises of their coupling. He moved one hand to the small of her back and the other he slipped between their bodies. He wet his fingertips on the slickness down there then moved that hand to rub small circles on her clit. Each spark of pleasure from his cock had become one long buzzing sensation in her lower body. Another orgasm caught her by surprise and she stiffened and drew in a long sobbing breath.

“Maggie, kiss me.” Alistair’s voice was rasping.

Maggie sluggishly leaned forward to kiss his mouth. He pulled her hard against himself again and cried out against her lips as he spilled inside her. She draped her arms around his neck and stroked his hair, feeling his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to get his breathing back under control.

_I wish we could stay like this forever._

He cleared his throat. “If you wait a moment, I can continue.”

Maggie looked down, though her skirts blocked the view. He was still firm inside her. “You’re still… oh, this is the Grey Warden stamina thing? That’s a neat party trick.”

Alistair huffed a breath. “I don’t know what kind of parties you think I go to.”

Maggie smiled fondly. “You know exactly what kind of parties I think you go to.”

He took a deep breath, and gave her a rakish grin, already much more confident than before.

“Just for that…” he said and flipped her sideways, so she was on her back, with his cock still buried inside her.

Alistair hooked his arms under her legs and began moving again. Her eyes were wide, and she watched his face. His cheeks were flushed, and sweat ran down his face, but the love in his eyes as he looked down at her was as overwhelming as him moving faster and faster until he was pounding into her.

“Oh fuck, Alistair,” Maggie moaned helplessly. She grasped his forearms as he fucked her into the seat.

Maggie distantly noticed the laboured creaking of the couch, protesting the strain they were putting it under, but the pleasure was so intense she couldn’t focus on anything other than that.

There was a splintering noise accompanied by a bang as the legs of the couch pitched sideways and collapsed, and they crashed to the floor with a loud thud. A cloud of dust surrounded them. Alistair paused mid-stroke, looking around with a dazed expression. They were still in the same position, but the couch seat was on the floor and slightly askew.

He frowned down at her. “Are you okay, Maggie?”

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” Maggie growled.

He laughed, making his cock jump a little inside her, and bent down to kiss her, moving his arms to free her legs. She hooked them around his waist.

“So bossy,” he said, when he pulled back from the kiss. “I like it.”

He rested his forehead against hers and suddenly started to move again, making the remains of the seat lurch a little amongst the wooden rubble.

“Fuck, fuck,” she gasped, unable to do anything other than rake her fingernails down his back to ground herself from the mindless pleasure of the man she loved fucking her senseless.

“Come again for me, my love,” he whispered in her ear, “let me hear you scream.”

She dug her fingernails into his back ever harder at his words, and he slowed his thrusting to kiss her deeply as she came again, crying out into his mouth.

When she relaxed, he did several deeper strokes and came inside her, groaning into her neck as he did so. This time he softened and slipped out of her. He kept his weight on his forearms and kissed her tenderly. They breathed into each other’s mouths and stayed pressed together.

“I love you,” he said, keeping his lips against hers.

“And I love you,” she said, and hesitated. “Which of us gets to tell Mistress Torwin we broke the couch?”

“I’ll tell her,” he replied, amused. “Technically it’s my furniture, so I don’t think I’ll get in too much trouble.”

Maggie made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat and grinned up at him. “Famous last words!” she said, running her knuckles over the stubble on his face. “On a related note, how sturdy is the bed in your quarters?”

Alistair kissed her again. “I don’t know,” he murmured, “but I look forward to testing it out.”

“Okay but you have to be the one to tell people if we break it and need a replacement.”

He hummed an agreement. “Are we allowed to go back to my quarters now?”

She wrapped her legs around his waist again and nipped at his bottom lip. “Oh, you poor man, seduced by a wicked Librarian and forced to stay in her lair.”

He leaned on one arm and reached down to stroke her breast. “Soooo wicked,” he said, with a definite twitch of interest from his cock.

“You have permission to leave my lair, Your Majesty. In fact, you probably should, before we end up defiling all the surfaces in here.”

He lightly scraped across her nipple with his thumbnail and chased her ensuing gasp with a long kiss. “In that case, care for a soak in my tub with me?”

She ground her hips up against him. “Yes, if you stop distracting me and get up.”

He grinned unrepentantly and kissed her again, then carefully extracted himself from their tangle of limbs, getting to his feet amongst the ruins of the couch. Maggie stood up too and surveyed the damage as they both put their clothing to rights. She undid her now irreparably messy braid and bundled her hair into a bun at the base of her neck.

“I wouldn’t have thought making the legs collapse would cause so much mess,” said Maggie, looking at the dust and wood splinters.

“I can’t believe it survived Former Royal Librarian Hubert, and not us.” Alistair said as he picked his way through the splinters to fetch his boots.

Maggie laughed, and pulled her dress bodice closed over her still-unlaced boob holder. “Maybe it’s a sign that we should have done it on the desk.”

Alistair visibly winced. “I’ll take broken furniture over that, any day of the week.”

Maggie looked past the desk to the library door. Her eyes grew wide. “Shit, I just realised we had a bunch of guards standing outside the door while we had sex.”

Alistair shrugged, and gestured around the room. “The bookcases would have muffled the noise a little.”

“You’re being very blasé about this.”

“I don’t speak Orlesian, but if you mean I’m not embarrassed, well I did spend most of my life before I became King with no privacy at all. The luxury of a closed door still feels decadent sometimes.”

Maggie frowned as she sat on a chair and pulled her shoes back on. “I… huh. I guess the expectation of privacy is quite a modern one for my world. I mean, historically people didn’t…” Her voice trailed off.

Alistair walked over to where she sat and bent down, softly brushing his lips over hers. “I promise that people won’t think any less of you.”

“Mmm you’re right. I love you, that’s all that matters.”

“My beautiful Maggie. Are you ready to head out?” Alistair said, stamping his feet to settle them in his boots, which he left unbuckled.

Maggie stood up and took his hand. “Yes,” she said, intertwining her fingers with his.

To their credit, the royal guards and Cedric didn’t react when they both emerged looking slightly worse for wear out of the library. They managed the walk to the royal chambers without any interruptions. Maggie suspected one of the guards had arranged for the route to be clear.

Alistair’s room looked much the same as it had when he’d let her use his tub, except there were now privacy curtains attached to the four posters of his bed. He noticed her looking at them. “I thought getting a bed canopy might be good if you ever, um, stayed here with me. For all those times my snackables get delivered during the night.”

“You’d already thought about the privacy thing? That’s very sweet.” She grinned and hugged him.

He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned against his chest, idly loosening the laces on his shirt.  

“Are you ready to get naked yet?” Maggie said, grinning up at him.

Alistair snort-laughed and gave the ties on her dress a tug. “Maker, yes.”

“Good,” she said, and pulled his shirt out of his breeches. He bent over so she could reach to pull it over his head.

He stood up and she regarded him. He was as beautiful shirtless as she expected, though with more scars littered all over his powerful body.

“Ooh,” she said appreciatively, running her hands down his front, “you have actual abs. I’ve never seen proper abs up close before.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I, um, I have no idea how to answer that.”

“I always dated flabby guys with desk jobs,” she said, grimacing, “but you’re all hard. And… large. And sort of pleasingly bulgy.” Her voice trailed off as she stared at him covetously.

He laughed and pointed to the series of thick round scars a little in from his side. They were several shades lighter than the surrounding skin and in the shape of a huge bite mark. “I got these when the Archdemon bit me. Wynne partially healed me, otherwise I would have died, but she had to save her mana and leave me with the scars.”

Maggie bent down to kiss the topmost scar. “I love every part of you. Your body tells the story of your life. Not only the ones from the Archdemon, but all the others too.” She straightened and threw her arms around his neck, angling her head for a kiss.

He embraced her with one arm, but his free hand came back up to the ties on her dress, swiftly loosening them.

“Does the dress come off over your head?” he murmured between kisses.

“Yes. Just grab the skirts with both hands and haul the whole lot over my head. It’s totally sexy and not awkward at all.”

Alistair chuckled and gave her another kiss before stepping back and doing as she asked. They each staggered a few steps back from each other with the momentum of Alistair’s vigorous dress removal technique. He looked at the armful of red dress he’d ended up with, then draped it over the armour stand that housed his Grey Warden armour.

Maggie had accidentally left her smallclothes somewhere in the library and the ‘bra’ was still loose and came off with the dress, so she was totally naked before him for the first time. Alistair looked at her with such love and appreciation that her knees started to get wobbly.

“No scars at all,” he said, walking back to her and running his large hands over the soft, pale, unblemished skin on her torso.

“I never thought about that,” she murmured, swaying with his touch, “unless one of my colleagues had gone rogue and come at me with a bookbinding awl, I was never in much danger in my previous life.”

“Well I’m glad they didn’t.”

She trailed her fingers over Alistair’s Archdemon scars again, then looked down and wrinkled her nose. “Fuck the Chastity Breeches, you can undo those again.”

He grinned and undid his breeches as easily as he had in the library, pulling them down and off gracefully.

She stared without subtlety at his muscular naked body.

_He looks like a bloody Calvin Klein underwear model._

_Ahh yes, but he’s my Calvin Klein underwear model. Without the underwear._

She took his hand and pulled him into the bathing chamber. The tub was full and steaming, smelling of sweet herbs. Fire runes glowed along the sides, keeping the water hot.

He breathed in the steamy air and sighed contentedly. “I organised this with the servants when I got back.”

“Good thinking.”

“Well I did think we might end up back here.”

She pressed her naked body against his and smiled up at him. “That’s very presumptuous of you,” she said, trailing her fingers through the fine hair scattered over his chest.

He laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling it up to kiss her knuckles. “You did suggest we might only make it as far as the tack rooms or a supply closet, so I thought you might be eager.”

“The library was totally nicer than the tack room. Your bed is very appealing though.”

“Just imagine, a surface where there is room for us both.”

Maggie laughed and stood on tiptoes to kiss him again. “Bath first, and after we are clean, bed.”

He hummed in agreement and stepped into the steaming water.

Maggie waited until he was sitting, then followed him. She sighed with delight as she sank into the large tub, settling between Alistair’s legs with her back against his chest. He put his arms around her and kissed the shell of her ear. She shut her eyes and let herself relax completely in the hot water.

After a few minutes Alistair trailed a hand around to stroke her breast and Maggie laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be washing off a long day of travel?”

His other hand cupped her other breast. “Yes,” he murmured, “but the woman I love is naked and in my arms. You are much more interesting than anything else.”

His cock was getting hard against her lower back. She wiggled herself back against it and he made a small whining noise. Maggie moved forward and twisted with some difficulty to face him. She titled her head to the side, eyeing how much room they potentially had in the bath.

“You’d fit on my lap,” Alistair said, correctly guessing her intentions.

Maggie grinned at him and crawled forward to straddle his thighs. Her knees were close to the sides of the tub, but there was enough room for her to surge forward in the water, take him in hand and impale herself on his cock in one motion.

She hissed a little at the slight sting as he filled her.  

He gave a low groan and reached up to stroke her face. “Did that hurt?” he whispered.

“Only a little,” Maggie said, and kissed him. “Mmm, feels so good though. I’m sore from earlier because it’s been so long and I’m out of practice. I’m sure we can think of a way to remedy that....”

He thrust up towards her. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

She kissed him again and reached over to grab the soap and a cloth, causing water to slop over the edge of the tub. She lathered up the herbal-smelling soap against the cloth then trailed it over his chest and down his arms, the small motions of her hips as she moved causing his breath to catch.

“Maker’s breath, Maggie. This is the most unusual bath I’ve ever had.” He ran his hands over her skin, staring at her in wonder.

Maggie leaned forward to kiss him, her nipples brushing against his soapy chest. She moved the cloth over the back of his neck and behind his ears, then broke the kiss to sit up and take each of his hands to lather them up.

“Have you got hair soap?” Maggie said, rhythmically grinding her hips against him.

He moaned and had to take a breath before he could talk. “I just… just use… hnngh… I just use that one for my hair.”

Maggie hummed an acknowledgement and leaned forward again to kiss him while she rubbed the lather into his hair. Alistair gripped her hips as she kept moving, his cries of pleasure growing louder. The lather from his hair covered them both, and water cascaded over the sides of the tub.

“Come for me, my love,” Maggie crooned to him.

She watched his face as he gripped her tightly and she felt the rush of heat as he climaxed inside her.

She gave Alistair a moment to recover, then took the jug that was sitting on the stool against the tub and filled it with water, tipping it over his hair. He spluttered and shook his head, making his clean hair stand up in spiky clumps.

Maggie ran her fingers through it. “You’re much cleaner now,” she said, kissing his forehead.

“That was a very tricksy plan,” he said, frowning in mock outrage.

“Poor innocent King.”

He laughed and reached down to lightly brush his fingers over her clit. “Do you want me to…?”

“Not this time. I can wait until we’re in bed.”

He hummed agreement. “This would be a good time to get out since we’ve already splashed most of the water out of the tub.”

Maggie stood up and carefully stepped out of the tub and on to the wet floor. “Yes, it’s slightly flooded, but we didn’t break the tub and I’m considering that a victory.”

He followed behind her and picked up two dry towels from a pile near the door, handing one to her and using the other. When they were both dry Alistair scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

In her best David Attenborough voice, Maggie said, “And here we have the plainest royal bed in all of Thedas, home of the handsome, yet strangely elusive Grey Warden King of Ferelden. Will he allow that other rare creature, the Orange Plumed Librarian, to share his nest?”

Alistair kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll let you use some of my pillows, even though you are using that funny voice and I only understood about half of what you just said.”

Maggie giggled and faked a swoon in his arms. “Your Majesty is most generous.”

He placed her gently on the bed, drew the curtains around the canopy and then lay down beside her. “Never let it be said I don’t share my pillows.”

She rolled to face him, pressing her naked body flush against his.

“I’m glad you came home today,” she said, with her lips against his.

“Maker’s breath so am I,” Alistair said fervently, gently squeezing her breast then stroking his hand down the side of her body.

He hooked her leg over his hip and kept nibbling kisses on her lips. He wiggled his hand further down between their bodies and rested it against the curls of hair between her legs.

“This okay?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

He moved his hand and started tenderly rubbing her clit, adjusting his movements in response to her reactions. He kept his lips against hers as he touched her, their bodies tangled together in his bed. She shut her eyes and let herself drift on the burning wave of pleasure building between her legs. She made little whimpers into Alistair’s mouth and he kissed her each time in response. He started moving his fingers faster, and she began to moan in earnest, rutting against him.

“I love you, I love you,” she gasped against his mouth, and arched her back as she orgasmed against his hand.

“And I love you,” Alistair said, wrapping both arms around her.

She embraced him back, listening to his breathing slow and get deeper as he started to fall asleep. The room was cool, but his skin was as hot as always and she snuggled against him, breathing in his clean male scent. She’d never felt so cherished as in this moment, drifting to sleep in the arms of the man she loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My confidence is really shaky after writing this one (my first smut, aaargh) so I'd love some feedback. Please be kind though, I'm feeling pretty fragile about it, haha.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the previous chapter for those who skipped it because of the content: 
> 
> Alistair gets back from Jader, and tells Maggie he loves her. Luckily, Maggie also loves him! Yay! In spite of (or maybe even because of!) the hideous bra she is wearing, Alistair and Maggie have Sexy Times in the library and end up breaking a couch. Alistair offers to be the one to tell Mistress Torwin about it, mainly because there is zero chance Maggie would agree to do that. They go back to his quarters and also get to see each other without clothing. Maggie is impressed he has abs. Actual, real life abs. They spend the night in his quarters and it’s all very lovely.

Maggie woke up still in Alistair’s embrace, with her head on his arm and her legs entwined with his. He stirred as she moved up the bed to steal one of his pillows. “I thought you were going to share your pillows with me,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his nose.

He opened his eyes to grin at her sleepily. “I offered you one, but you were too busy sleeping on my arm and drooling on it.”

“I would never!” Maggie plumped up her purloined pillow, placed it beside Alistair’s and rolled over, pressing her naked back into Alistair’s chest.

He slung his arm over her and buried his face in her hair. “It’s okay, I forgive you for drooling on the royal arm.”

Maggie laughed, and used her pillow to hit him over the head. “Take that!”

Alistair yelped indignantly, then rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed. “And now you’re assaulting the royal person!” he said, and kissed her. “You… are… very… wicked.” He kissed her between each word.

She responded enthusiastically. “Mmm, we should…”

The voice of Alistair’s manservant Tobias sounded through the door. “Your Majesty? Your meeting with the Arl of Edgehall is in fifteen minutes.”

“Fuck,” Maggie growled.

Alistair made a sad face and pressed his forehead against Maggie’s. “Clearly not right now.”

Maggie wound her arms around his neck. “You have Kinging to do.”

“I don’t even like the Arl of Edgehall.” He kissed her again.

She sighed regretfully. “I wish we could stay in bed all day.”

“Me too.” He rolled off her and out of bed, pulling the privacy curtains around the bed fully open. “I’ll be right there, Tobias,” he said to the door.

“Well, there is one plus side,” said Maggie, staring lustfully at his naked body, “I’m allowed to watch you get dressed this time.”

He laughed and pulled on his fine linen smallclothes, then rummaged around in his drawers. He tossed clean breeches and a shirt on his bed.

“Oh, I’ll have to wear yesterday’s clothes,” said Maggie, sitting up and looking for her rumpled dress where it had landed on Alistair’s armour stand.

“There is a clean pile here for you.” Alistair handed her the clothing that had been neatly stacked on a dresser.

“How did Emmie know where I slept? Wow, the palace information system is kind of amazing.”

When they were both dressed Maggie threw her arms around him. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear.

“I love you too,” he murmured back. “Do you want to stay with me again tonight?”

“Always.”

 

***

 

Maggie strode determinedly into the stables with Cedric in tow. She returned Buffy’s enthusiastic greeting outside the Mabari stalls.

“Sorry girl, I couldn’t have you with me last night. I was, uh, busy.”

A passing stable boy coughed into his hand. Maggie blushed, and Cedric gave an amused snort.

She looked up as they continued on towards the back exit of the stables. From one heartbeat to the next she could suddenly hear the buzzing noise she’d experienced when The Book from Earth was in her quarters, before Delia stole it. Maggie let herself into the tack room, stood on tip toes and felt around the highest shelf. There was the book that Dorian had given her, the Sister Book, safe in its hiding place, wrapped in oilcloth and emitting the faintest of noises. She put it under her arm and patted it, then headed towards the library.

When they reached their destination, Cedric looked inside at the gap where the ruined couch used to be, and his lips twitched. “I’ll wait out here, Lady Maggie. Outside the door. Not in there.”

Absentmindedly stroking the book, Maggie nodded and hummed an agreement. She walked into the library, shut the door and looked around. Everything was clean, tidy and looked much the same as usual, except for the couch space. A wave of longing for Alistair made her gasp. The need to be close to him again was like a physical hurt.

Maggie shook herself and focused back on the Sister Book. She caressed the cover, the sensation muting her desire for the King. Buffy whined and sat close to her leg. Maggie sat down and stared at the book. The texture of its cover. The intricate designs. Smell of old parchment. Whispers in her head.

She didn’t know how much time passed, but she jumped when someone knocked at the door. Callie, the young maid who had reported the noises in the library that sparked her confrontation with Delia, came into the room holding a package.

“My pardon, Lady Maggie. The guards told me they found this in Former Library Assistant Delia’s rooms and that you needed to have it.” The young woman placed the package on the table near Maggie, curtsied and left.

This package was buzzing too. Buffy gave a low growl and pressed herself more firmly against Maggie’s leg. Maggie dreamily patted the puppy, her eyes fixed on the new package. She was warm and sleepy, like someone had wrapped her in blankets and handed her a hot chocolate to drink. The fabric of the package rasped through her fingertips and she winced. The only sound she heard now was her own breathing, laboured in the dry air. Underneath the fabric sat her book, her companion from Earth, traveller through the Fade.

She swayed in her seat and put a hand on each book. Distantly she felt Buffy seize the hem of her dress and pull.

“Bad girl,” she murmured, not taking her eyes from the books.

She’d not had the chance to compare the two books. A little look shouldn’t hurt.

_This is a stupid idea. No, this is a good idea. I’m doing things I don’t understand. But I can understand them if I read and study them._

Some passages in both books seemed to match up.

“Wit fristmearc efenteáin edgrówung,” she read aloud. “We are together again. Pron ðe ic goldmæstling ednîwinga.”

The fabric of her dress ripped from Buffy’s teeth and she started. No, this had become too creepy. Too dangerous. The buzzing was getting louder, too loud.

_Time to put these away. Far apart._

Buffy began barking hysterically.

Maggie turned to look at her, but then her vision faded to black and she felt like she was being crushed. She couldn’t breathe, and she tried to raise a hand to her throat, but her limbs were glued in place. She started to get sparkling white lights at the edges of her vision as she strained to suck air into her lungs. As the white lights dulled and turned to black, Maggie was jolted into… somewhere.

She took a deep breath; her head became much clearer. The air was flat and muggy, devoid of scent. The light had an unsettlingly familiar greenish quality, and there were floating rocks in the sky above her head. She had landed in a narrow passageway, with high rocky walls. The light came not only from the gap above her head, but also the stones themselves.

There were photographs sitting on a small table against the wall. Maggie gasped and ran over, dropping to her knees. She saw Jon’s face, smiling up at her. He and Mum, holding hands at Bondi beach. Her own primary school graduation, with ginger pigtails and a mustard yellow jumper. Their childhood cat Sparkles, lying beside little Jon on a crochet blanket. Mum and Dad on their wedding day, with Mum wearing a scandalously short Sixties wedding dress with lace sleeves and a broad brimmed white hat, and Dad looking clean-cut in a suit. A six-year-old Maggie holding baby Jon, beaming proudly at the camera.

Tears started to run down her face and her hands shook as she grasped the precious pictures. She thought she’d never see their faces again, frozen forever in these captured moments. She had accepted that, she’d chosen another world over the ghosts in her own. A world that was alive, and precious to her. Why were these things here? It was so incongruous with her life over the past months, she shouldn’t be sitting here wearing the garb of a Ferelden noblewoman, holding photographs of her dead family.

The denial of where she was faded, and anger replaced grief.

_What kind of game is this? Why am I being toyed with?_

Alistair’s touch was fresh on her skin, and the thought she might get torn away from him made her feel physically sick. Angry tears prickled her eyes.

_Alistair will think I left him, that he’s lost yet another person. That he loved me, and I rejected him._

She lurched to her feet and screamed her rage at the chaotic sky.

_I’M BACK IN THE FUCKING FADE._


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me through my first fan fic, lovely readers! I have really enjoyed your comments, they are the best part about posting chapters. It’s an insanely busy time of year (school holidays, eek!), but I’ll try to get the final chapter written and posted shortly after Xmas. I hope you all have a safe and enjoyable festive season 😊

Anger sat like a druffalo on Maggie’s chest. She clamped her teeth together hard and made note of her surroundings. The passageway where she’d landed in the Fade led both left and right, though to her right it looked a little brighter. She gathered up the photographs and stuffed them down her bodice, then set off down the passageway. The dagger Alistair had given her still rested on her hip, and she touched the hilt for reassurance. It was like a small part of him existed here with her.

She felt like a traitor for missing him so much when she’d just seen the faces of her family. The memory of watching his face, bright with passion when they were in the tub together was haunting her. How it felt to wake up naked and in his arms, to run her fingertips over his scars and taste his skin. He was so alive and so vibrant. She’d long ago accepted the deaths of her family. She couldn’t let Alistair grieve for her in that way, she wouldn’t leave him alone again.

Maggie growled in frustration and kept walking.

She turned a corner and skidded to a halt. Jon stood there, smiling at her.

_Oh, that is a fucking low blow._

His clothing was the same as when she’d last seen him, an old flannel shirt, his beloved Doc Martens, and blue jeans artfully ripped at the knees. His red hair was still too long, she noted distantly. It flopped over his eyes. Mum had always been on at him to cut it.

“Hey Maggie, how’s it going, sis’?” he said.

Maggie took a step backwards. “Shit,” she said.

His dark eyes glistened with tears. “I’ve missed you, Maggie Moo.”

Her breath caught at the sound of her childhood nickname. She examined his face as he looked guilelessly back at her. There was the scattering of freckles across his nose, from where he always forgot to wear a hat in the sun. The scar under his jaw where he and his mate Scott Williams had gotten carried away using cricket bats as lightsabers when he was ten.

She’d forgotten how heartbreakingly young he’d been when he died, only eighteen. He’d always looked like himself to her, but now she hadn’t seen him in half a decade he looked so much like a teenager.

Maggie’s voice shook. “I don’t know what the hell you are, but you aren’t my little brother.” Her reason told her this wasn’t Jon, however alike they looked, but her heart was thundering, and she’d broken out in a sweat.

“Come back home with me, Maggie.” He gestured eagerly and started walking. “We can go back to Sydney, back to our proper lives.”

Numbly, Maggie followed him, staring at his back.

He led her to a clearing. Pools of liquid dotted the area and large rock formations stuck out of the ground haphazardly. In the very far distance she could see the silhouetted buildings of a city, on floating chunks of ground. The air was warm and humid, with the faint sweet smell of rotting vegetation.

There was a portal and, of all things, another table in the clearing. The portal looked like the rift she’d fallen through to get to Thedas, but… much neater. Less ragged. More manufactured.

“You are the link between worlds, now,” said Jon gently. His hand raised like he was going to touch her shoulder, but then he lowered it again.

Maggie looked more closely at the portal. She could make out what looked like a view of Sydney Harbour through it, the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House just visible. She frowned at it. Anger was breaking through her shock.

“Did the Australian Tourism Bureau commission this weird fucked up gate between worlds?” Maggie muttered darkly, “because that looks like a postcard image of Sydney.”

“You have provided a path.” Jon’s voice sounded ecstatic, verging on hysterical. “You simply need to go back to this world and the cycle will be complete. You can grant Corypheus dominion over us all.”

“Jon was never this emotional,” Maggie said to him. “He could be a little shit, but he wasn’t into demon cult fuckery, or whatever your angle is here.”

She looked away from the portal to Earth and at the table. It was a jarringly ordinary end table. Like something she’d buy from IKEA. Someone had placed two familiar books on top, side by side.

“You!” Maggie said to the book that had come with her from Earth, sitting there quietly with its pair. “You piece of…”

She unsheathed her dagger in a fluid motion, flung open the front cover and plunged the lazurite blade into the book.

“I am so done with you.” She ripped the dagger through the pages, holding the book steady with her left hand. “So very done with you.”

It was cathartic, having something to stab.

“Sorry Rory,” she muttered under her breath, “this will really blunt the dagger.”

Jon wrung his hands. “No, what are you doing?”

Maggie kept stabbing and ripping until the book was a mess of tiny flutters of parchment drifting to the ground. “This thing has caused nothing but trouble.” She threw the cover on the ground and gave it a kick, turning her attention to the Sister Book.

“Maggie please. Let’s go back. I want to live again. We’d be so happy.”

Maggie snarled and repeatedly stabbed the Sister Book, revelling in the tearing of parchment. “Andraste’s tits, I never thought I’d harm a book,” she muttered, “but I have no fucks left to give.”

Sheathing the dagger and throwing the tattered remains of the second book down with the other, she looked around the vast clearing. There, glimmering right on the far edge, almost out of visual range, stood a ragged rift, more like the one she’d originally gone through into Thedas. For the first time since she’d come to the Fade, hope bloomed in her heart.

She gave her dead brother one long final look, then turned and started to jog towards it.

“Maggie wait, please, it hurts, I’m… I’m dying.” Jon’s voice seemed insubstantial.

Maggie kept her eyes on the far rift. “I’m so sorry Jon, but you already died. You aren’t real.”

“I feel real, Maggie. You are my big sister. Why would you want to hurt me like this?”

In spite of herself, tears trickled down Maggie’s face, and she lurched into a run towards the second portal. Thumping footsteps came from behind her, far too heavy to be Jon’s. She didn’t turn around, instead focusing on hitching up her torn skirts and running.

Little many-legged spider demons skittered around the portal.  She ran as fast as she could, breath ragged and desperately keeping ahead of whatever followed her. The heavy footsteps in pursuit drowned out even the sound of her own breathing. She drew her dagger as she got close to the rift and slashed out, not bothering for any finesse. Choking screams sounded from the small creatures as she hacked at eyes and limbs, sending chunks of flesh splattering to the ground.

She jumped through the rift as they stabbed at her legs. It seemed she was flying, for a moment, and she took a deep breath into icy clear air. It turned out she was actually falling because she hit the ground awkwardly and something in her leg snapped.

Sounds of fighting surrounded her, with a melange of demon screeches and people cursing in the Common tongue. The pain in her leg suddenly hit, and she muffled a scream into the frosty ground.

“Hey look, it’s our favourite librarian. What the fuck is she doing here?” She recognised the voice of Inquisitor Cadash.

Maggie tried to reply, but the pain was too much to do anything other than groan.

“Well shit, Punchy, she’s got a bone sticking out of her leg. We’d better get Chuckles over here.” That was Varric, she thought dimly.

She squinted upwards. Della Cadash was leaning over her and frowning.

Maggie managed to lift her arm up and grasp the front of the Inquisitor’s coat. “I really need to go back to Denerim,” she whispered.

A few moments later a bald elf she didn’t recognise touched her head and muttered something, then there was blackness.

 

***

 

Maggie opened her eyes. She lay on a cot in a small stone room. She looked blearily around. There was a toddler of indeterminate gender perched on a low stool across the room from her. A huge, fluffy, black and tan tabby cat sat on the floor beside them. The child was eating crackers, making a mess of their smock.

Maggie met the child’s eyes. “Erm, hi there?” she said, voice rasping.

The toddler stood up. Someone had woven braids amongst their pale brown curls, some of them festooned with thin bows. “Hi,” the possibly female child said cheerfully, and pointed to the cat, “Fuff Fuff.”

Maggie attempted to sit up, but there was a stabbing pain in her leg and she yelped involuntarily. Her leg was heavily bandaged. She flopped backwards, and looked back at the child. “Um, is your Mummy here? Your Mum? Shit, what do kids call their parents here?”

The child pointed through the doorway. “Mama.” She(?) finished the crackers and wandered over to the table in the corner, where Maggie could see a pile of parchment and some coloured wax blobs, apparently the Thedosian equivalent of crayons. She scribbled on the paper, whilst the huge cat maintained a patient vigil.

To Maggie’s relief a woman came into the room, holding a potion bottle and a wooden cup.

“My patient is awake, I see.” She handed Maggie the potion bottle. “Drink this. Fair warning, it tastes like shit.”

Maggie sniffed it and made a face at the pungent odour. “Thanks for the heads up,” she said, and sculled the lot.

The woman smiled faintly and took the empty bottle from Maggie, handing her the cup of heavily watered-down ale to drink. “My name is Rose, I’m a healer here in Skyhold.”

She appeared about Maggie’s age, with beautiful wavy chestnut-brown hair and striking blue eyes. She looked like someone who would once have been lauded for her attractiveness but now just looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and a gauntness to her face. Her accent was a touch different to the others Maggie had heard in Thedas, but the delivery of her words reminded Maggie of Roh and her sisters.

“Skyhold,” said Maggie, grimacing. “That’s a fair distance from Denerim. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you Rose, I’m Maggie.”

Rose gave another of those small smiles. “Lady Maggie, future Queen of Ferelden, if Dorian is to be believed.”

“I, um, well.” Maggie cleared her throat, then sat up suddenly, more successfully this time as the potion had taken away most of her pain. “Oh my god, I need to send a raven to Alistair. He’ll think I ditched him.”

Rose waved her hand in dismissal. “Inquisitor Cadash already took care of that. She sent a raven to the King as soon as they bought you back to their camp. That was ten days ago.”

“Ten days! I’ve been unconscious for that long?”

“Aside from your broken leg, you had the marks of blood magic on you. There was some kind of connection to the Fade, but linked with blood magic. Dorian said you’d had a book that bought you through the Fade from another world? You had a bond through that too. He and Solas severed your link to the Fade and cleansed the blood magic remnants from your body, but it left you drained.”

Maggie felt sick to her stomach, and oddly unclean. “So there was blood magic linking me and the books with the Fade?”

Rose busied herself unwinding the bandages on Maggie’s leg. “From what I gather. I’m a mage, but a physician, not a theoretician.”

“Alright, that makes sense. I stabbed the books, so they are, um, dead.”

Rose paused and looked perplexed. “You stabbed books?”

“I stabbed the shit out of them.” Maggie experienced a tiny jab of guilt for harming a book.

The toddler looked up from the drawing. “Shit,” she said clearly.

Maggie grimaced apologetically at Rose. “Um, anyway. So now it’s all gone?”

The healer pulled the last of the soiled bandage off Maggie’s leg and regarded the wound with a pleased expression on her face. She produced a clean bandage and a pot of something from somewhere in her tunic, then slathered on the contents of the pot and rebandaged Maggie’s leg. “I can’t detect any blood markers left in you,” Rose said as she worked. “Aside from your leg, you are in outstanding health. Far more so than most people here. Wherever you are from must have excellent medical care and ample food.”

“Look!” said the little voice.

Rose tied off the bandage, stood up and walked over to the toddler, resting a hand on her head. “This is Mari, my… well, daughter now I suppose. She and our cat Messere Fluffy have been keeping you company. Mari likes people with interesting hair, so she was very taken with you.”

Mari held up the piece of parchment. It had a series of vigorous scribbles on it. “Tullen,” she said proudly.

Rose bent down to admire it. “You drew a picture of Commander Cullen? We must show him, I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Maggie noticed the other woman’s cheeks turned a little pink when she said the Commander’s name.

“No,” said Mari firmly, “TULLEN.”

“Oh Maker’s ba... breath. You mean the goat?”

“‘es.” Mari nodded.

Rose sighed and looked at Maggie. “We have a baby goat named Cullen. I really must stop letting the children name our animals.”

Maggie had a flash of memory as she looked at the drawing. “Was there anything with me when I came through the rift?”

Rose nodded, absently stroking Mari’s hair. “Your clothes were ruined, I’m afraid. They had to cut them off you. There were other things though, a moment please.” She disappeared into the next room and rummaged around in some drawers. She came back in holding a small package.

Maggie unwrapped it, and couldn’t stop the tears that sprang to her eyes at the sight of the contents. Her dagger was there, blunt from slaughtering books but otherwise fine. The photos of her family were also there, bright as life and unscathed from their time down the front of her dress.

Rose leaned over to have a look. “Those are truly remarkable paintings. I’ve never seen the like. Incredibly detailed and lifelike.”

Maggie sniffled, and then laughed. “They aren’t paintings, they are images from my world created by light projecting on a light sensitive surface, and sort of,” she waggled her fingers as she considered her words, “um, fixed in place with chemicals.”

Rose looked politely blank.

“It’s technology. Our version of your magic.”

Rose smiled at her. “They are wonderful. The people resemble you, are they your family?”

Maggie thumbed through the stack of photographs. “Yes, my parents and younger brother. These pictures are all I have left of them.”

“I lost my brother too, I wish I had an image of him to remember him by.”

“I’m sorry about your brother. My brother… he was in the Fade, we talked, and he seemed so real. He knew personal information too, he didn’t just look like Jon. Do you think he might have a real connection to Jon, somehow? Why was I the link anyway, because I tried to catalogue that stupid book in the first place? How did they get the photos if they needed me to access Earth?”

“Maker only knows. You could ask Solas, he’s our resident Fade expert. As to your brother, well the Inquisitor and some of her companions ended up physically in the Fade during the Battle at Adamant Fortress.” She blushed again at the words ‘Adamant Fortress’. Maggie looked at her quizzically. Rose cleared her throat and hurriedly continued. “And they said they saw a spirit who had assumed the form of the dead Divine Justinia. Cassandra said she was physically identical to the woman she knew. So perhaps a spirit or a demon took the form of your brother to convince you to fulfil their plans.”

“Yeah that makes sense. A bit shit though.”

A young elven woman with a riot of curly bright orange hair knocked on the doorframe and stuck her head in the room, smiling cheerfully. “Hello all! Rose, I’m free to take Mari now if you like.”

Mari squealed with glee, toddled over and threw her arms around the newcomer’s legs. “Otay, bye!” she said to Rose and Maggie, taking the laughing young woman’s hand and pulling her away. Messere Fluffy gave an excited chirp and trotted after them.

“Goodbye ladies,” Rose said to their retreating backs, then looked back at Maggie. “I need to check on the other patients too. Try to get more rest and I’ll have food and drink sent in to you.”

Maggie thanked the mage and lay back down, stroking the photos before rewrapping them and placing the package on the small table beside the bed.

She dozed, tired after her conversation with the healer, the bustle of the infirmary lulling her to sleep.

As the light grew dim, a voice startled her properly awake.

“Maker’s arse Maggie, you look like absolute shit.”

Maggie looked at the newcomers and grinned. “It’s nice to see you too, Roh.”

Eliza and Roh were wearing green Inquisition uniforms and were armed, with sword and bow respectively. Eliza had shaved her head and looked distinctly like an even more badass Ripley from Alien Three.

The former bodyguard came over and put her hand on Maggie’s forehead. “You still feel a little warm. I hope they are giving you enough fluids.”

Maggie snorted and patted her hand. “Thanks Mother Eliza.”

Roh made an intrigued noise. “A hitherto unknown maternal streak, Eliza? That’s oddly sexy.”

Eliza blew Roh a kiss.

“I hate to interrupt the flirting, but what are you both doing here?”

“We’ve officially joined up as Scouts.” Roh flopped down on the end of Maggie’s bed, narrowly avoiding her broken leg. “We left Denerim to bring Delia into Inquisition custody after you went missing, but we got a raven when we were on the road saying you were here and to bring you to Redcliffe as soon as you could travel.”

“Redcliffe? Not Denerim?”

Roh smirked. “I believe there is someone currently on a hastily organised royal visit to Redcliffe who really wants to see you.”

“Ahh. Ahh!” Maggie sat up eagerly. “Shall we leave now?”

Eliza put a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down.

Roh laughed and shook her head. “We will leave when you can travel. That healer who fixed your leg looks like someone who would fucking end me if I tried to take you away before you are ready.”

Right on cue, Rose come back into room holding a bottle filled with a mossy green potion.

Maggie gave her a winning smile. “Are you able to do anything so I can travel soon?”

Rose frowned, then sighed. “I don’t like to do this, but I can help things along for you.”

She sat on the bed beside Maggie’s bandaged leg and rested her hand on it, shutting her eyes and assuming an expression of concentration. A warm, dull pain suffused the inside of Maggie’s leg, an irritated itching sensation.

Rose opened her eyes again and looked sternly at Maggie. “That’s the bone fully healed, but you must do extra, specialised, training to build up your strength in this leg. It’s far better for your body to heal naturally, but in this case I’m happy enough with your progress. You’ll need to stay in the infirmary for three or four more days though, for the rest of the swelling to subside and for you to eat and drink properly to get your strength back up.”

Maggie sighed and wrinkled her nose. “Four days? It could be worse I suppose. Can I go for a walk?”

“Slowly and carefully,” said Rose, “you’ll be as weak as a kitten for a day or so.”

Roh put her arm around Maggie waist to help her balance. “Come on, there’s an ale in the Herald’s Rest with your name on it. Don’t worry Healer, we won’t let anything else happen to her!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rose is the main character in my new long fic, The Price of War. Her POV of this chapter will feature in that story, though not for a while as I’ve only just started posting that one and they are still in Haven!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! This is the first half of the final chapter (the second half will hopefully be in less than two weeks). I've been visiting family in New Zealand since Christmas but I've been able to sneak the odd hour here and there to write. Here is a pic I took yesterday of my beautiful view as I worked on this chapter :D  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/159497572@N07/39675666703/in/dateposted-public/)

Eliza shifted on the horse that she and Maggie shared. The bodyguard gestured to the lush and quiet landscape. “The mages and templars slaughtered huge swathes of the population here in the Hinterlands before the Inquisition stepped in and put an end to it. I don’t know why it surprised anyone when so many mages went insane after years of abuse and the templars were too fucked up on lyrium to make good decisions.”

Maggie adjusted her grip on Eliza’s armour and stared at the deceptively calm vista. “How do you know so much about it?”

“My sister was a mage,” said Eliza absently. “She was killed during the Blight, when abominations took over Kinloch Hold. The only reason I even found out she’d died was because the templars failed to keep the incident under wraps. I make a point of keeping up with the situation, now.”

Roh stopped her horse and looked over at the other two women. “What the fuck, ‘Liza? Why have you never mentioned her?”

Eliza shrugged, then gestured at the ruins dotting the countryside. “I was just musing, I’m not sure if I’m happy Bet didn’t live to experience this mess, or if I wish she’d had this chance for freedom, as slim as it was.”

Maggie looked at the remains of people’s homes and lives, the charred skeletons of buildings and people intertwined. Nature had started to take over, vines beginning a slow crawl over the ruins. “I’m sorry about your sister, Eliza. The way mages have been treated in Thedas is shameful.”

Roh kicked her horse back into motion. “I can’t believe you never told me your sister was a mage.”

“It never came up, Roh. Having magic in the family isn’t exactly something that’s talked about, even with close friends. Anyway, she died a long time ago.”

They rode in silence for a time, each woman lost in her own thoughts. As they got closer to Redcliffe, Maggie noticed the rebuilding efforts in the surrounds increase dramatically.

Maggie cleared her throat. “You’re not the only one with a secret. I came here through the Fade from another world, not from across the Western sea.” She watched her friends for their reactions, but they looked unsurprised.

Roh snorted a laugh. “Yeah, we know. We shared a few bottles of a fine Tevinter red wine with Dorian one night after he and that shiny bald elf healed you of that weird Fade shit. He told us.”

“And you didn’t find it odd?” Maggie frowned in consternation at their lack of a reaction.

Roh raised her eyebrows at Maggie. “No odder than a foreign Librarian seducing the most eligible man in Thedas.”

“I… yes, okay that’s true.”

“It was your secret to tell, Maggie,” said Eliza.

Roh nodded in agreement. “So now we’re all being honest, what was your world like? Men with feet on their heads? Or no heads at all and their faces on their chests? Ohh, does your world exist on the back of a giant turtle, flying endlessly through space?”

“Um, no. No, it’s like here, just with technology instead of magic. People in my world eat, drink and socialise. They make friends, fall in love and raise a family, get jobs to earn money to live.”

Eliza hummed thoughtfully. “Why the story about being a princess?”

“Alistair suggested it so people didn’t decide I was a crazy demon for being physically from the Fade. Besides, who wouldn’t want to be a princess?”

Roh clucked at her horse and it danced a few steps in front of them. “I always wondered about the princess thing,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Maggie. “You swear too much to be a princess and royalty wouldn’t wear that hideous breastband contraption you wear. Bands over the shoulders? Just awful.”

Maggie laughed at the horror on Roh’s face. “It’s very supportive. Straps and all. Anyway, how many princesses have you met?”

Roh got a faraway look in her eyes. “None, but a girl can dream.”

“I just thought of another question,” Eliza interrupted them. “Do you have Mabari?”

“We’ve got dogs that are similar, but not nearly as intelligent. Our cats are much the same. Oh, in my country, Australia, there are animals that keep their babies in a pouch across their bellies and hop everywhere on their back legs.” Maggie smiled, remembering seeing kangaroos in the wild on trips outside the city.

Eliza shook her head in disbelief. “That can’t be true.”

“Not a word of a lie!” Maggie said, laughing. “We also have drop bears, they live high in the trees and fall down on the heads of people visiting our country.”

“I can’t tell if you are joking.” Eliza twisted around in the saddle to look at Maggie.

Maggie gave her friend a mysterious smile. “Oh how interesting, a sign for Redcliffe. We’re heading in the right direction.

 

***

 

Maggie was unexpectedly nervous as they rode the short distance between Redcliffe town and Redcliffe castle.

_Will Alistair reject me because something connected me by blood magic to those books and the Fade? Will he consider that I’m tainted by Corypheus somehow? Roh said he wanted to see me, but perhaps he hasn’t heard the full details._

The thought that he might not want to be with her was crushing. The memories of his touch, of his voice were haunting her. It felt like three years since she’d seen him instead of three short weeks.

_Maybe the Inquisition would take me in if I can’t go back to Denerim? They’ve got an okay library, and a librarian already, but he seemed busy obsessing about Varric’s books so he could use an assistant. People have loved and lost before. I wouldn’t be the first to lose someone they loved so much. If he can’t deal with the blood magic thing, then Roh and Eliza would take me back to Skyhold_.

“MAGGIE.” Roh’s voice intruded on her introspection. 

Maggie jumped, and she felt Eliza snort a laugh in front of her.

“I can feel you brooding. Also, you are frowning at Eliza’s cloak and I’m sure it’s never done anything to hurt you.”

“Would you take me back to Skyhold?” Maggie blurted.

Roh looked perplexed. “Skyhold? Why would you want us to? Aren’t you desperately in love with our esteemed monarch?”

Maggie gazed at the distant Redcliffe castle and frowned. “I am, of course I am, but what if he doesn’t want to be with me anymore because of the blood magic?”

“You aren’t a maleficar. Andraste’s grace, you aren’t even a mage,” Eliza said, twisting to glance back at Maggie over her shoulder. “You didn’t choose your involvement with blood magic.”

Maggie kept her eyes on the castle, picturing the castle guards running them off with arrows. “Oh my god, what if he’s not allowed to accept what happened to me? What if it would mean he’d be tainted by association and forbidden from seeing me?”

Roh rode up beside them and put her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “He loves you. You’re upset because you had to deal with some crazy demonic fuckery immediately after a night of hot sex with our sovereign ruler. Andraste’s quim, being upset is a completely reasonable reaction. Trust me, it’ll all be better when you are together.”

Eliza patted Maggie’s knee reassuringly with her gauntleted hand. “For once my impractical beloved is correct, everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Rory and Buffy were waiting for them amongst the crowd of staff at the stables in Redcliffe castle. Her joy in seeing them both was tempered by the lack of her lover.

_Maybe he’s doing Kingly stuff_ , she thought, _they said he was on an official visit here._

The dwarven man steadied her as she slid off from behind Eliza. Her mostly healed leg was still tender from the ride and it wobbled as she landed, causing Maggie to lean heavily on Rory. Buffy made excited wuffing sounds and jumped on the spot.

Roh and Eliza rode through the knot of staff to drop off the horses.

“You are looking better than I expected, lass,” Rory said, grinning at Maggie, “and someone here has been beside herself all day, sensing your approach.”

Maggie knelt and threw her arms around Buffy’s neck.

“It’s good to see you both,” she said, “and Buffy I’m sorry I gave you such a fright in the library.”

Buffy whined and pressed herself against Maggie, almost causing the human to topple over.

“And you’ve gotten so big. What have they been feeding you?”

“Buffy will be as tall as me when she’s grown, don’t you worry about that. Now I don’t want you slacking off, girl, so weapons training in the morning.”

Maggie stood up, keeping her hand on Buffy’s head so she’s could stroke the Mabari’s ears reassuringly. “Ah, weapons training sounds fine, Rory. I was wondering though, where is…”

She didn’t finish her sentence as a large figure darted inside the stable and swept her into a crushing hug. Maggie yelped in surprise, then buried her face in Alistair’s shirt and hugged him back. She opened her mouth to speak but emotion had choked her, and she squeezed him tight and breathed in the familiar smell of him. Buffy started barking excitedly.

Distantly she heard Roh wolf whistle.

“Nothing to see here, people.” Rory’s voice boomed throughout the stable.

“Move along everyone,” said Eliza in an imperious tone.

They had obviously shooed the stable staff off because she realised the background noise had faded and they were alone. Alistair’s breathing hitched, and she realised he was crying into her hair. Which was fine because she was crying into his chest and soaking his shirt.

Eventually they pulled back to look at each other. Maggie knew exactly what she looked like because her face always swelled up and went red and blotchy when she cried. Luckily Alistair didn’t flinch at her unfortunate appearance or her tears and snot on his shirt. He still looked really attractive and not at all mottled. She let go of his shirt, wiped her nose on her sleeve and reached up to cup his face, wiping the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs.

He bent down a little to lean his forehead against hers, putting his hands on her shoulders and holding her close. “I thought I’d done something wrong, and you’d left. Something wrong in the… in the night we spent together.”

Maggie gasped in horror. “Oh shit, no. I would never do that. Alistair, I love you. Being together like that was perfect, and even if it hadn’t been, I wouldn’t just up and leave without telling you.”

His hands squeezed compulsively on her shoulders. “That’s what Rory said. Maker, I was so worried.”

“I didn’t want to go back to Earth.” Maggie pulled him closer, so they were nose to nose. “But even if I’d wanted to leave for whatever reason, I would have told you first.”

“I love you. More than anything. Thank you for coming back to me.”

“I love you too, but…”

He pulled back to peer searchingly at her. “But?”

Maggie looked up into his eyes, but then looked at a point over his shoulder so she couldn’t see any horror or disgust in his reaction. “Did they mention I had traces of blood magic in me? They cleared it out, but I know it’s considered evil here and I was worried you’d decide I was tainted by it.”

There was a pause, and Maggie’s heart dropped down to her boots. She stepped back, focusing on a point at his shoulder. “It’s okay, I understand…”

Alistair made a noise of discontent and stepped forward to follow her. He gathered her into his arms and lifted her chin with his finger. “Of course not, it wasn’t your fault. I would never think any less of you. Especially not for something beyond your control.”

He bent his head and kissed her. His touch was heartbreakingly familiar, and she moaned into his mouth before returning the kiss.

“I missed you so much,” Maggie murmured.

“I thought about you all the time, especially that… last night….” Alistair stroked her hair back from her face.

Maggie slipped her hands under his jacket to stroke his back through his shirt. “I don’t suppose we’re allowed to retire for the night early?”

“Regrettably no, Arl Teagan has organised a state dinner for this evening,” Alistair said, making a sour face. “You’re to be the guest of honour.”

“Well, there’s a handy tack room just over there…” Maggie stopped talking and frowned. “Wait, I’m the guest of honour? Why on earth would I be the guest of honour? You’re an actual King.”

Alistair brushed his lips over hers again. “It might cause some bother if I were to, um, woo you in the tack room. And of course you are the guest of honour, I’m just the same boring old King they’ve had for a whole decade. You are a princess from an exotic country.”

“I’m joking about the tack room. Mostly. Anyway, I only have these travelling clothes on me.” Maggie pulled back from Alistair’s embrace and looked down at herself. “The dress I was wearing in the Fade was destroyed. I can’t be a princess at a dinner wearing borrowed breeches one of the nurses at Skyhold had to let out for me so they would fit over my hips.”

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He tugged her back into his arms and kissed her again. “But! You’ll be pleased to hear Rory made me bring clothes for you. I was all in favour of just leaving straight away when we got the raven from Della Cadash saying they’d picked you up, but he got Emmie to pack some items for you.”

“Okay, yes, but this means I will have to sit at the top table.” Maggie wrinkled her nose at the idea.

Alistair grinned at her. “We can sit together for once and upset all the nobles by using the wrong spoons. Sometimes I even use the correct spoon, but in the wrong hand. It livens state dinners up a lot.”

Maggie sighed and fiddled with the laces at the top of Alistair’s damp shirt front. “I mean, yes it would be nice to sit with you. I love you and I just got you back and now I need to be a princess and let a bunch of people judge my clothes instead of us having a nice, private, naked reunion.”

“Heads up, love birds,” said Rory, “Arl Teagan is on his way.”

They reluctantly let go of each other.

“My visit here is all terribly royal and official,” he said apologetically, “because Rory refused to sneak me into Skyhold to meet you there. We’re stuck being very proper.”

Rory barked a laugh. “I’ve met your friend the Nightingale, Your Majesty. Fucked if I’m going to risk getting caught doing anything remotely dodgy around her.”

Alistair huffed. “I could’ve explained it to her. She knows we couldn’t have an official visit because of the politics.”

“She would have had your hide, my liege, and you know it.”

Alistair grimaced but didn’t deny it. He looked back at Maggie. “Rory can show you to your quarters so you can change. I need to go back and explain to Bann Engle why I ran out on our meeting in such a rush.”

“That’s okay,” she said, “I’m grimy and I need to wash.”

He kissed her again. “I’ll see you at dinner.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm home from holiday and my current view is quite different to the vineyards and mountains of last time! My writing buddy Monty is pleased to have me home though :D  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/159497572@N07/46045345994/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> To celebrate the last chapter, here is a beautiful tarot card featuring Alistair and Maggie by the very talented Barbara "Yuhime" Wyrowińska. I am so in love with how she did Maggie's hair!  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/159497572@N07/46045347434/in/dateposted-public/)

Eliza ran her hand over the stubble on her head. “You can wield politeness like a weapon, Maggie,” she whispered. “Just don’t react to any barbs. Same goes for you, my beloved Lady Rohlessa.” She looked pointedly at Roh, who was fiddling discontentedly with the cuffs of the dress she’d borrowed for the dinner.

“There must be a way to renounce my nobility,” muttered Roh, “though I’d hate to disappoint you ‘Liza, since you like bedding a noblewoman so much.”

Eliza grinned unrepentantly and gave her girlfriend a chaste kiss on the cheek. “No more than you like bedding your bodyguard.”

“I wish we could hang out with you and the guards,” Maggie said wistfully, “you always seem to have more fun than us.”

Eliza nodded, looking askance at the assembled nobles through the doorway. “I’d rather to pass the time with a bunch of well-armed and plain-spoken commoners than sneering nobles any day.”

Roh also looked through the door and made a face. “We should go in. Let’s get this over with.”

“Good luck, you’ll be fine.” Eliza clapped firmly Maggie on the back and gave Roh another kiss before heading inside the room to lurk at the edge with the other guards.

Maggie and Roh paused in the doorway as Isolde’s piercing voice carried faintly over to them. “I don’t see why the King’s whore has to sit at the top table. And beside the King himself! This is most unheard of.”

The distance muffled Teagan’s reply, but his tone was indignant. Isolde looked mutinous.

Maggie snorted and shook her head. “Well. We’re off to a good start.”

Roh made a rude noise and looked around. “Is there a spare bow around here? I want to shoot her.”

“She was a bitch to the future King of Ferelden. She’s stuck here in Redcliffe instead of living in Denerim at the palace because of her actions. I’m betting she’s crippled with regret and resentment over her shitty life choices,” said Maggie, watching Isolde wave her arms round, seemingly berating Arl Teagan.

“Can I wound her? Just a little,” Roh said plaintively. “Through the arm? That’s not fatal.”

Maggie laughed under her breath. “It’s more fun to make her suffer through having to be nice to me. I fully intend to follow your girlfriend’s excellent advice.”

Roh considered this. “Okay, we’ll do it your way. But if it goes wrong I’m shooting her afterwards.”

Maggie bent down and whispered to Buffy, “Go growl at the mean lady, girl. Then join us when we sit down.”

Buffy whined in agreement and trotted off into the hall, head held high and her ears pricked and alert.

The women sauntered after the young Mabari. Many of the various nobles from the surrounding districts were already seated and Maggie felt like every single one of them was staring at her.

Roh leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Why are they making you do this instead of letting you get naked and reacquainted with the King? Seems a tease to make you wait.”

“It’s okay,” Maggie murmured, “I can cope for a few more hours.”

Roh hummed in disbelief. “Really? Because I would have ripped his clothes off before we left the stables. Well, not him. Ew. Maybe if he were a she. Or, you know, Eliza.”

“He is who he is,” Maggie whispered.  “And that involves giant group dinners with the nobility. Anyway, I’m sure I can think of some creative ways he can make it up to me later.”

“I like your thinking. Send him in my direction for a frank discussion if he needs advice about that.”

They exchanged a glance, and both broke into giggles.

The women reached the top table where Buffy was sitting and watching Isolde intently, baring her teeth slightly and making a low growl. The Mabari stood up when she saw Maggie and trotted over to her.

Servants pulled out their chairs. Maggie thanked the young woman who did hers and sat down. The servant looked startled at being addressed, but she gave Maggie a shy smile before disappearing off with the others. Buffy positioned herself behind the chair, looking around the room for any potential trouble. Another servant poured both her and Roh large mugs of what looked like ale.

Arl Teagan gave her a warm smile from where he sat across from her. “Lady Maggie, it’s a pleasure to speak with you at last. King Alistair has spoken of you at length. And it pleases me to see you again Lady Rohlessa, I hear you are now a valued member of the Inquisition, a great service to Thedas in these troubled times.”

Maggie grinned back. “The King has spoken often of you, Arl Teagan. He always talks fondly of his younger Uncle.”

“Wonderful to see you after all these years, Teagan,” Roh said politely but with a slight edge to her tone, “my dear late mother always spoke of you with much enthusiasm.”

Teagan blushed a little and cleared his throat. “Ah, and this is my brother Eamon’s wife, the Lady Isolde.” Teagan gestured to the woman sitting beside him. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, exposing her coldly beautiful face.

Maggie nodded and smiled at Isolde. “A pleasure to meet you too, my Lady.”

Isolde smiled too, though it didn’t reach her eyes. Her gaze flickered downwards to the dresses Maggie and Roh wore, both less than the height of fashion Maggie supposed. “And you too, Lady Margaret. Although in all honesty your Mabari seems a little wild for polite company.”

Maggie heard Buffy make the low growl again from behind her.

Arl Teagan gave Buffy a fond look. “She’s just high spirited, aren’t you beautiful girl?”

Buffy gave him a happy bark.

“Yes, that’s right. So high spirited, an excellent quality.” He looked back at Maggie. “It’s a fine thing, having a Mabari choose you, Lady Maggie. A great honour for one from such a distant land as yourself. It makes you a Ferelden in all but name.”

“I’m very lucky. She’s a lovely dog.” Maggie made a gesture toward Arl Teagan under the table and Buffy sat down beside him, panting happily.

“Her name is so unusual, what is the origin of it?” Teagan scratched Buffy’s ears and she leaned towards him, closing her eyes with enjoyment.

“Oh, Buffy is a great warrior of my people, a Slayer of demons and vam… er, creatures of the night. I thought the name would be a good omen for such a powerful and noble beast as a Mabari.”

Teagan made kissy faces at Buffy, who opened her eyes and gave him a big doggy grin in return. “A worthy name for a worthy beast. Aren’t you girl? Yes you are. Such a good girl. The best girl, yes you are.”

Isolde made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. “The King is running late, as always…”

As Isolde spoke, the main doors to the hall swung open and Alistair’s guards marched in, followed closely by him. His face was neutral, as it generally was when he was on duty, but he looked at Maggie first before looking around the room at the assembled company. Everyone stood, and Roh jabbed Maggie in the ribs. Maggie glanced at her and she waggled her eyebrows.

Alistair sat down, nodding to everyone to do the same. “Good to see you all,” he said gravely. “I, for one, am eager to celebrate Lady Maggie’s safe return to us.”

Arl Teagan held up his ale mug. “A toast then,” he said, looking at Maggie, “to Lady Maggie’s safe return.”

All the nobles followed suit. Maggie felt awkward but looked around with what she hoped was a grateful smile.

Isolde bared her teeth in what Maggie assumed was an attempt at a good-humoured facial expression. “Lady Margaret, I hope our humble fare is up to your exotic and refined standards. Our cook makes an excellent traditional lamb and pea stew.”

Maggie gave her the pleasant look she reserved for particularly obnoxious book dealers. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely. I find Ferelden food to be very, ah, hearty. It’s certainly fortifying.”

“Speaking of food, Lady Maggie has done an excellent job in cataloguing a collection of recipe books for the palace library,” said Alistair blandly.

“Oh yes, I’ve been most enlightened by my exposure to the literature of Thedas. The recipe books, in particular have provided an excellent sociological insight into the culture and habits of people here.”

“The King has employed you in his service, has he not, Lady Margaret? How very… unusual.” Isolde wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something offensive.

“Yes indeed, I find my work as a scholar and a librarian to be most stimulating.” Maggie’s voice was mild. “Even something as simple as the study of recipe books can provide untold benefits. I’m sure the King, for one, would be interested in trying out some of the recipes I have uncovered.”

The corners of Alistair’s mouth twitched upwards, but he schooled his face to neutrality again before speaking. “I would, my Lady. I have been nothing but impressed with your thoroughness and dedication to your tasks.”

“Why thank you, your majesty. I appreciate that.”

Isolde looked between Alistair and Maggie with a slight frown before shifting her gaze to Maggie alone. “You speak the common tongue so well, Lady Margaret. One never knows the language capabilities of those from such far-off lands as yourself.”

Maggie gave her a big, innocent smile. “Oh, you are a bonza sheila for saying that. Sometimes I feel like a right drongo when I talk to people here. Luckily all my cobbers have given me lots of support in fitting right in.”

There was a loaded pause after she spoke, but luckily the servants chose that moment to reappear, carrying large tureens of stew, plates piled high with freshly baked bread rolls and crocks of butter. Isolde busied herself correcting the placement of the dishes on the table, snapping instructions at the servants.

Maggie looked at the table in front of her and then leaned towards Roh. “The cutlery looks basic enough,” she said in a low voice.

“Maggie, this is Ferelden.” Roh lifted her ale mug and grinned at her from behind it. “Even nobles keep things reasonably simple. This is just the same as eating in Denerim and all you need for stew is a spoon.”

“Oh. Right, of course.”

The remainder of the meal passed without a hitch. Maggie particularly enjoyed the dessert of steamed pudding with lashings of syrup and cream, shamelessly taking a second serving under the horrified gaze of Isolde.

After the servants had cleared the dishes away, Alistair bent towards her and took her hand under the table. “Will you walk with me? There’s something I want to talk about,” he murmured in her ear.

“I’m guessing people would consider you sweeping me into your arms at the dinner table and carrying me right up to your chambers and then thoroughly ravishing me to be bad form?” Maggie whispered in return.

Alistair considered this with a small smirk on his lips. “We probably could, but I wanted to show you something first though.”

“Of course. And then ravishing?” she said, looking at him from under her eyelashes.

“And then ravishing,” he promised quietly, squeezing her hand.

The nobles all went their separate ways after dinner, Roh giving her an exaggerated wink and two thumbs up as Maggie and Alistair went out a side door, trailed by his guards.

There was a ladder up to the battlements, and Maggie held her skirts bunched in one hand to climb up it. It was dark, but the light from both moons shimmered on the soft waves of the lake and illuminated them both in a gentle glow. Even with the people visible in the castle courtyard behind them and the distantly lurking guards it was like they were the only people in the world. She took Alistair’s hand as they both looked out over the beautiful view and entwined her fingers with his. The quiet was refreshing after the noise and bustle of the dinner.

He stroked her palm with his thumb. “After Isolde married Eamon I spent most of my time with the dogs. I would come up here when I wished to be alone. This was a special place, and I never shared it with anyone. It was mine. No one else’s.”

Maggie leaned against his solid form, looked up at his shadowed face and squeezed his hand. “Honestly, and I can’t stress this enough, making a child live with dogs is incredibly fucked up and I want to hit her.”

Alistair kept his eyes on the lake and shrugged. “The palace staff fed me, and the dogs kept me warm. In this world there are many worse fates awaiting an unwanted bastard than simply spending most of their time with Mabari.”

Maggie breathed out slowly. “Yes. I still want to punch her though.”

Alistair’s lips quirked upwards in a small smile, and he looked away from the lake and at Maggie. “I thought they taught you to use your words in your world?”

She smiled back at him. “We are. I’m prepared to make an exception.”

“Please don’t make me need to give you a royal pardon.” He lifted their joined hands up and kissed her knuckles.

Maggie laughed. “I’ve caused you enough trouble. I’ll try to behave.”

He gently released her hand, put his arm around her to pull her against him and kissed the top of her head. “Maker, Maggie, I’ve missed you. The thought that you might have left…” He shivered and squeezed her more tightly.

Maggie stood on her tiptoes and put her arms around his neck. “I didn’t want to leave you. I’d rather stay here with you, if you’ll have me.”

Alistair looked searchingly into her eyes. “Are you sure? The world you are from seemed much safer than here.”

“I mean I’m pretty sure I’m stuck here now, because I really laid waste to those books, but yes, I could have gone back and yes, I chose to stay here.”

He kissed her, long and slow. “Thank you.”

He pulled back from her, paused and swallowed hard, a flicker of nervousness passing over his face.

Maggie traced his jawline with her fingertips. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

He stared at her. She looked back questioningly.

“Would you marry me?” Alistair said abruptly. “Would you do me the honour of coming back to Denerim and being my Queen?”

Maggie squeaked in surprise and stared at him, wide eyed.

_Oh there it is, the Q-word._

He looked at her earnestly. “Ever since you fell out of that rift and talked like I was a person instead of just a King I’ve known you were special. You are so beautiful and kind and clever, and I would be honoured to wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life.”

He stopped talking and Maggie could just hear the sound of the waves on the lake and her own rapid breathing.

_I need to say something_ , she thought frantically.

“Oh fuck.” Maggie’s voice was higher pitched than normal.

Alistair shifted uneasily but kept his gaze upon her.

_Oh my god Maggie, say something else to him. He’ll think you're going to say no._

Maggie took a deep breath, stepped forward and clutched the front of his shirt. “Yes. I mean, yes, I definitely will marry you. Alistair. Yes. Absolutely.”

He looked relieved. “Oh, thank the Maker.”

She released her death grip on his clothing and smoothed it down flat again. “I am, um, hopelessly unqualified for the Queen… thing… but it’ll be… ah, fun.”

Alistair stroked his finger along her jaw. “You are no less qualified than I was when I became King. Maker, you are a scholar, you are probably more qualified.”

Maggie’s heart was racing with excitement and some apprehension about the future she’d agreed to. She flung her arms around Alistair’s neck and held him close. “I love you so much,” she said into his ear.

“I love you too,” he murmured, “thank you for making me the happiest man in Thedas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we go, I finished my first ever fic! I’d love to hear any thoughts/opinions/constructive criticism you have, it was a big learning curve, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you so much for sticking with me through this, I've greatly appreciated all the comments and kudos. 
> 
> I’m going to focus primarily on my other fic “The Price of War” for now but stay tuned for a shortish follow-up to “The Lonely King” that takes place during the events of the Trespasser DLC.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Lonely Princess](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17967743) by [LadyNiaLavellan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNiaLavellan/pseuds/LadyNiaLavellan)




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